


Midnight at the Belmont

by togetherboth



Category: Martin and Lewis (RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Loneliness, Love at First Sight, M/M, New York City, Nonbinary Character, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22872277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/togetherboth/pseuds/togetherboth
Summary: The next customer in line steps up. She’s a regular, an older red-haired woman who always gets a brownie and a flat white. Joey calls the coffee order back to Nico as usual. He’s taking a brownie from the glass-fronted display and setting it on a plate when he happens to glance over to the door just as it opens. That’s when the guy walks in.He’s quite tall, and he’s got curly black hair and dark eyes and a suntan even though it’s March. When Joey looks at him he gets the warmest, deepest, most inexplicable feeling of oh,thereyou are.He thinks,what took you so long?
Relationships: Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin
Comments: 62
Kudos: 58





	1. Monday - Poetry Book Club

i)

Joey’s feet are fucking killing him. When he arrived at work for this afternoon’s shift Nico took one look at his outfit and declared that those shoes were not work shoes. Joey had argued that any shoes are work shoes if you wear them at work and had smiled very prettily, it was stunning. Nico had indicated the Dr Martens on their own little feet and said,

“ _These_ are work shoes, honey.”

Then they told him he was crazy and went back to clearing tables. Honestly the shoes are not even that high, it’s like a five-inch heel, that’s not even that high, right? Plus they’re like little ankle booties too: very practical in all the rain they’ve been having. He’s styled them with high-waisted pants and his favourite Norma Desmond t-shirt that he made himself by the way, and he looks cute af, thank you very much. 

Although, the lunch rush has been going on for over two hours now and his feet are on fucking fire.

Standing at the register while the customer in front of him searches for their card, he shifts his weight and gives a little whimper, making Nico look up at him as they squeeze past in the narrow space behind the counter. They put a comforting hand on the small of his back.

“It’ll quiet down soon honey. Help me get through this line, then you can go on your break early.”

Joey looks down at them gratefully.

“Thanks Nico. You were so right, these are not work shoes. No one ever worked in these shoes. I feel like an idiot.”

“But you look like a goddamn supermodel, just remember that.” Nico says, giving him a friendly pat on the ass as they return to the espresso machine and pick up a cup. “And you’re not quitting wearing them, that’s important. Would Gaga give up on fabulous shoes halfway through a shift just because her feet were hurting?”

“No, don’t be crazy Nico!” Joey yells back over the hiss of the machine. “Gaga is an angel, she doesn’t have _feet_.”

Nico laughs and Joey grins at them fondly. He loves to make anyone laugh, but he loves making Nico laugh most of all. He doesn’t know a whole lot about their life before but he knows it was rough. Like, really brutally rough. Nico is about the kindest, sweetest person he knows. They’ve been so good to him since he came to New York, not just giving him this job but taking care of him too. Reminding him to eat and not just live on vanilla soya frappuccinos, that kind of thing. So he tries his best to take care of Nico in return, even though they’re older and certainly a hell of a lot fucking wiser.

Nico’s full name is Nico Calo, but it wasn’t always. They told Joey,

“Honey, I’d had… wow, _three_ different first names by the time I was twenty and not one of them was any good.”

Their last name got changed a lot too, for reasons Nico doesn’t talk about. It was Calonico at some point, Joey knows that much. So they took that and cut it up and made a whole name out of it and they’ve been Nico ever since. Joey thinks it suits them: finally a name to keep. One that belongs to absolutely no one but Nico themself. 

Because Nico’s so tiny and adorable, one of Joey’s favourite things to do to cheer them up is just to pick them up and carry them around for a while. Truly, they’re almost pocket-sized: so portable! Nico tries to save some face by pretending to hate it, but they always giggle _way_ too much for that to be true. Plus, when they’re out and Nico’s had one too many negronis they put their arms up and say,

“Joey, honey, I’m tired now. Carry me home.” 

So that’s how Joey knows for sure that he’s doing a good thing. Maybe this weekend they can go out for cocktails. He’d like that. He decides he's going to think about that to try and take his mind off his aching feet. 

The next customer in line steps up. She’s a regular, an older red-haired woman who always gets a brownie and a flat white. Joey calls the coffee order back to Nico as usual. He’s taking a brownie from the glass-fronted display and setting it on a plate when he happens to glance over to the door just as it opens. That’s when the guy walks in.

He’s quite tall, and he’s got curly black hair and dark eyes and a suntan even though it’s March. When Joey looks at him he gets the warmest, deepest, most inexplicable feeling of _oh,_ there _you are_.

He thinks, _what took you so long?_

He glances away for a second only to be drawn immediately back to the guy. He’s standing just inside the door now, a little dishevelled from the rain and engaged in folding up a dripping wet umbrella. It’s midnight blue with subtle silver stars on it and Joey thinks it’s perfect for this guy: butch, with something unexpectedly beautiful about it. The guy puts the umbrella carefully in the stand by the door, where it joins a few others that are already making a steadily-expanding puddle on the wood floor. 

The guy’s got headphones on and Joey immediately wants to know what he’s listening to. Tucked under his arm is a blue and yellow package that Joey recognises as being from Midtown Comics; he wants to know what’s inside. He’s wearing a big scarf over this gorgeous old leather jacket that looks as though he’s been wearing it so long it’s moulded itself to his shape. Joey would also like to mould himself to his shape, please.

He looks a little older than Joey and that is, oh boy, that is A Very Good Thing Indeed. He’s about the most handsome man Joey’s ever seen in his entire life. How does anybody get that handsome?

He can’t take his eyes off this guy. There’s something so special about him. He’s just _too much_.

A crash startles him and he realises that the plate with the brownie on it has slipped from his hand and smashed on the floor.

“Shit! Sorry,” he says to the surprised-looking woman in front of him. “I’ll just… I’ll get you another.”

Joey steps over the mess and gratefully ducks down behind the glass of the bakery display for a few seconds to try and regain his composure. He grabs another plate, and will you look at that? His hands are shaking! He’s trembling so hard his bracelets are rattling together. When he tries to take another brownie they suddenly all want either to stick to the tongs or to slide right off the display. Finally he manages to wrestle one onto the plate and hands it to the woman with a flourish.

“Thank you!” He says, a bit too fast. “Your coffee will be ready for you at the end of the counter. Have a wonderful day!”

“Sweetie, I haven’t paid.” The woman smiles at him.

“Oh! Oh, sorry!” He quickly rings everything through the register, thanking her for her patience as she pays and moves down the counter. The next customer steps up. Luckily she only wants coffee, so it’s easy enough just to call out the order out to Nico. At least he doesn’t have to wrangle any baked goods this time. As he’s taking the money he casts a quick glance around the coffee shop. He can’t see the beautiful guy. A funny mixture of relief and disappointment twists in his belly. Maybe he changed his mind? Maybe he took one look at the klutz behind the counter and fled to Starbucks.

The line of customers shifts forward and as it moves Joey sees that actually the guy has joined the back of the queue, he was just obscured by the tall man in front of him before. He’s standing in line like a normal person! Joey’s going to have to _speak_ to him. Oh fuck. He puts his hand on the edge of the counter to steady himself and immediately knocks a container of forks to the floor. Startled by the clatter, Nico looks over.

“What is _wrong_ with you today?”

Joey turns away from the customers for a second, faces Nico and widens his eyes meaningfully, tipping his head discreetly toward the guy at the end of the line. He watches as Nico’s eyes find him and understanding dawns on their face.

“OH. Ooh, pretty.”

“YES,” he hisses. “Help. Swap?”

“Nuh-uh,” says Nico, turning back to the coffee machine and shaking their infuriating little head. They grin as they rather brutally lock the portafilter in place. “You stay right where you are, Joey-boy.”

Joey turns helplessly to the next customer and gives her a slightly manic smile. Three people to go till it’s the guy’s turn. He serves and smiles, and his feet throb, and his certain death by hotness gets closer and closer. Joey sneaks little glances over at him. He’s distracted, looking up at the blackboard menu over the counter. His hands are in his pockets and he just looks… lovely. He looks so lovely. And warm, and safe. Joey doesn’t know what it is, but something about this guy just makes him feel so safe. He hasn’t felt that way in a long, long time. He imagines vaulting the counter and leaping into his arms. This guy would catch him, he’s sure.

Joey serves and smiles, serves and smiles, and then before long the guy is standing right there in front of him, just innocently looking at him across the counter. Close up he looks, if anything, even yummier. Really, just… too much. In addition, Joey can see now that his eyes look really kind. Oh dear God, Joey’s done for. _Kind_? Attractive, he can cope with. But _kind_? The guy lifts his hands from his pockets to take his headphones off and Joey’s just going to pretend that he did not clock the size of those paws.

“Hi,” says the guy.

“Hi,” says Joey. There’s a silence.

“Can I get…” the guy says, just as Joey says,

“What can I get you?”

The guy smiles at him and oh fuck, what is that _feeling_? Joey does what he always does when he feels vulnerable: he goes for a gag.

“You trod on my line!”

“Well, I’m sorry about that,” the guy says, smiling wider. “I’m sorry. Let’s try it again.”

“Okay, okay. Right. So, my line is: ‘what can I get you?’”

“And my line is: ‘can I get a long black and whatever sandwich is good today, please.’ How was that?”

“Hmm… _Empire_ would give it four stars.”

“Only four?”

“The sandwich order lacked conviction.”

The guy laughs and it makes Joey feel incredible, like being drunk but actually nice. _What am I doing?_ He thinks. _More to the point, what are_ we _doing? Is there a ‘we’ now? Are we doing something? Are we flirting, is this flirting?_ If it is then it’s not like any flirting Joey has ever done before in his life.

“I guess it did lack conviction,” the guy says thoughtfully, “but I couldn’t decide. What do you think is good?”

“Umm. You like veggies? We got roasted veggies on focaccia. Lots of herbs, olive oil. That’s my favorite. It’s toasted, warm. The cheese is vegan but I made them get the expensive stuff so it’s actually edible, it’s not like eating linoleum at all. It melts like real cheese and everything. It’s really good.” He’s babbling; he is babbling, right? The next man in line has started giving him a death stare, so that probably means that he is.

“Sure,” says the guy. “Sounds good, I’ll try that.”

Joey beams at him. 

“Great.” He turns to the display. Oh boy. He concentrates really hard and somehow manages to get the sandwich off the display and onto the sandwich toaster without dropping it or setting himself on fire or anything.

“Is that to go?” He asks. Please say no, please say no, please say no, please say n-

“Yes.”

“Damn.” Oh!

“Excuse me?”

“Just a cough, sorry.” Joey calls the coffee order back to Nico and notices that the guy is also looking over at them.

“ _Fai molto caldo, amico,_ ” he says.

Nico looks up from the coffee machine and gives him a pleased smile.

“ _Va bene._ ”

“ _Grazie_ ,” the guy says, and Joey goes bright pink. He’s pretty sure he just had some new kind of minor orgasm.

He rings everything through the register and the guy hands over cash, which Joey would normally think was weird but in this case is utterly charming. As he passes back the change, the guy’s blunt, slightly rough fingertips brush the soft skin on the back of his hand. Joey’s soul leaves his earthly form, ascends, bounces off the ceiling and smacks back down into his body.

“Oh.” He says, without really meaning to. It comes out like a tiny gasp. The guy looks at him a little quizzically. “I mean… oh, your order will be ready for you at the end of the counter.” He gives the guy his prettiest smile. “Have a wonderful day.”

“Thank you,” the guy says, and takes a couple of steps away. Just as Joey’s drawing a breath to speak to the next customer, who’s dared to begin looking hopeful that he might be served, the guy looks back at him. Lightly gesturing to his own torso, he says,

“I like your shirt.”

“Oh!” Joey says, unconsciously raising his hand to his own skinny chest, “thank you!” Panicking slightly he adds, “I love old movies.”

“Me too,” the guy smiles.

Joey pulls himself up to his full height, tosses his head back a little and channels Gloria Swanson like his life depends on it.

“I _am_ big,” he says, widening his eyes and LIVING.

“It’s the _pictures_ that got small,” the guy finishes with perfect, perfect timing. Joey clasps his hands together and laughs, delighted. Somehow it’s even funnier because he says it in a completely normal voice, standing there slightly damp and smiling in the middle of the Belmont Coffee House on a rainy Monday in March, just quietly being perfect. 

He suspected it before, but that’s the exact moment when Joey knows for sure that he’s fallen in love.

Then the fella waiting in front of him has the goddamn nerve to cough pointedly. Joey turns to look at him, his face going on a complicated journey from murderous to obliging, with I detour to I-would-like-to-keep-my-job in between. He takes the order. 

This line is just not getting any shorter. Joey keeps serving, keeps calling the orders out to Nico, and Nico keeps that machine roaring. He keeps catching glimpses of the guy waiting patiently at the end of the counter, one hip against the newspaper display. 

Finally, Nico casts a slightly sad little glance at Joey as they slide a takeaway cup and a slightly oily sandwich bag onto the counter.

“One long black, one vegan special to go,” they call out. The guy steps forward.

“ _Grazie._ ”

“ _Prego._ ”

The guy glances over at Joey and Joey wants to say something else, wants to do something enormous, wants to throw a boulder into the stream of the day. He wants to make such an impression that this slipping apart stops happening. But how would he ever be heard over the roar of the machine, the billows of steam and the clatter and babble of the clientele? He’s stuck here, hemmed in by hungry customers while the guy drifts away from him, hustled along the counter and off the other end with coffee and a sandwich: exactly what he came in for, no more no less. And… goodbye.

Joey looks around and scans the shop to see if he can catch one last glimpse of him. And there he is, just standing on the threshold, halfway out the door. Looking back. Their eyes catch and they smiile. 

Joey lifts his hand to wave but just as he does so the lady he’s serving asks to add a madeleine to her order and he gets distracted. What actually happens to his arm is not so much a wave as a weird flopping of the wrist, like a gesture forgotten halfway through. Mortified at himself, he’s about to sink under the counter to join the broken crockery and spilled forks when he sees the guy laugh and copy the movement. This silly, childish bizarro wave looks, on him, cute. Joey feels his face light up like a Christmas tree and then the guy is gone, the shape of his shoulders dissolving into the rain.

ii)

They close at eight o’clock on Mondays. At one minute past, Joey has already kicked his shoes off. Nico turns the sign on the door around and locks up while Joey fetches the broom from out back. The afternoon had stayed insanely busy for at least thirty minutes after the guy had left. By the time Joey took his break he was long gone. Then there was a lull just long enough to clear a few tables before the schoolchildren and their mothers and fathers and grandparents and whoever else they had enslaved turned the place into a creche for a couple hours. 

At six, the poetry book club met in their usual corner. Joey likes the poetry book club. They cause no trouble, always order a lot of cake, and some of the stuff they read out loud is absolutely filthy. Occasionally an argument about iambs breaks out, but honestly if you don’t care deeply and vocally about poetic meter then what is even the point of the club?

This week they were doing Frank O’Hara, and when Joey overheard one of them read out the last stanza of ‘Steps’ it made him feel so lonely he thought the tears he was struggling to hold back might drown him from the inside.

_'oh god it’s wonderful  
to get out of bed  
and drink too much coffee  
and smoke too many cigarettes  
and love you so much.'_

The city is so beautiful and so, so vast. He’s illuminated this little corner of it for himself, fixed it up with friends and fairy lights, but beyond its careful boundaries there’s still so much darkness out there. Most days he manages to ignore it, pretty much. He makes it so that his tiny, familiar patch of the city stands in for the whole thing. But today, when the guy walked in, Joey’s little corner had felt even friendlier, even more like home. And when he left, a little bit of cold leaked in through the open door. For a few minutes, it felt like someone had reached their hand out of the dark and slipped it into his. Until that moment he hadn’t even been aware that his hand was unheld, but now it’s like his empty palm is killing him.

 _This is very silly behaviour, Joseph_ , he thinks, swiping away hot tears with the back of his hand. _A nice-looking man gave you five minutes’ attention and now you’re a wreck._ That’s all it is. He tries to pretend that’s all it is. He sets to work putting the chairs up on the tables so he can sweep.

“Oh, we got another one for the collection,” says Nico from over by the door. “It can dry off tonight, then we’ll put it in the lost box tomorrow.” 

Joey sniffles and looks up just in time to see them lift up a solitary, dripping umbrella from the stand. It’s midnight blue, and shimmering with silver stars.


	2. Tuesday - Early Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's early, it's still raining, and Joey and Nico are back at work.

Joey’s bed is gorgeous. It’s huge, much too big for the room really, and it’s very, very old. It has a brass bedstead with these tall, elegant bars rising up at the head and then a shorter version of the same pattern at the foot. At each corner there’s a sturdy post and on top of each post sits a shiny brass sphere. The whole thing practically screams Angela Lansbury, it’s just glorious. Only one out of the four lovely spheres is a little dented, and Joey thinks that’s amazing considering how very old his bed is. 

When he found it, the poor thing was in pieces leaning against a skip outside a building on his street that was being stripped for renovation. He’d carried the pieces one by one all the way up to his apartment entirely by himself: it took seven trips, and each time he went up he had to run right back down the stairs praying that no one else would have taken the bits he’d left behind on the street. 

After a quick visit to the hardware store to buy some new bolts so that he could join all the pieces back together again and some polish to make the brass shine, he’d spent a whole very happy Sunday on his project. When it was finished he had felt a) pretty proud of himself and b) pretty fucking butch. He’d hauled his mattress up from its usual position on the floor and found that it fitted the frame _perfectly_. Then he’d flopped right down in the middle of his new creation and fallen fast asleep. 

So now he’s the proud owner of what is probably, objectively the most beautiful bed in the whole of New York. He suspects that maybe someone’s bubbe might’ve died in it? But that’s okay. It’s really too pretty to have been thrown out for any other reason, he figures, and people are easily spooked, so. Anyhow, he doesn’t care. He’s not scared of any old lady ghost. Although he did get Nico to come over and Ave Maria it a couple times just to make sure. 

Just after he got the bed, he did start to notice small things around the apartment turning up in places he _definitely_ didn’t leave them. His favourite cocktail glass with the cherries on it turned up on the floor next to the bath, for instance. His precious old Leica was in the third drawer when it _always_ lives in the top drawer. His necklace with the glittery topaz stones appeared right in the middle of the couch. So he thinks maybe, just maybe, his bed is haunted by whoever’s bubbe might’ve died in it. But she seems friendly enough, and she has excellent taste in accessories. He’s named her Mrs Goldschmidt and he talks to her when he’s lonely.

For his birthday last year, Sophie gave him a string of the most beautiful fairy lights. Each twinkling little bulb is surrounded by diaphanous petals in different soft colours, making the light they give off very gentle and calm. He wove the lights carefully all around the uprights of the headboard and now he falls asleep bathed in warm light rather than lost in the dark. He’s sure he sleeps better because of it.

Last night he dreamed about that guy who came into the Belmont yesterday, that Italian guy. It wasn’t sexy, not exactly. He doesn’t want to talk about it though. He’s not sure he could, anyway. It was an achey sort of dream, but lovely too. Intimate. As soon as he woke up he quickly wrote it all down in his diary and then clicked the lock sharp shut, because he didn’t want to forget it but he didn’t want to remember either. Distracting. He just wanted to put it away, safe. Something for the snow days and the nighttime. 

This is all just a longwinded way of saying that Joey’s bed is gorgeous and warm, and he did not want to get out of it this morning. There’s something especially disheartening, he thinks, about working a late shift followed by an early shift. It’s probably because, at this time of year anyway, it means that you go home in the dark and you leave home in the same dark. Ugh. And the same heavy rain too, right now. He could hear it drumming on the roof even as he lay in bed.

Joey is drenched by the time he arrives at work. But it’s okay because he’s planned ahead. He’s channelling Melanie Griffith in _Working Girl_ by having a spare pair of shoes with him: soaking wet Chuck Taylors are _not_ a problem in this Haus. He’s also put on his thrifted 1980’s duster coat, which is basically like wearing a mobile tent. It’s real cold today, so under his coat he’s all wrapped up the soft, over-sized cardigan that Bessie knitted specially for him. It’s palest oyster pink and so big it goes around him twice. Gorgeous.

 _Plus_ , as if all that wasn’t enough, he’s also got the red umbrella that Frank gave him. So, while he’s outwardly soaked, underneath he’s dry and warm as toast. See, people think he’s scatty. He’s not scatty. Joey Levitch can look after himself very well, thank you. Heaven knows he’s been doing it long enough. 

The red umbrella is wonderful and ridiculous at the same time. Frank had sauntered into the Belmont a couple weeks ago carrying this goddamn umbrella which Joey had instantly found hilarious. Here’s the thing, you see: it’s a Cartier umbrella. A fucking _Cartier_ promotional umbrella!

“Frankie, darling, are you _trying_ to get robbed?” He’d said. 

“Let the fuckers try.” Frank replied, and Joey had to concede that he had a point.

Frank hadn’t even had to pay for the umbrella, the Cartier store on Fifth Avenue just _gave_ it to him because he was in there buying cufflinks and it was raining when he left. What a world Frank lives in! He’s CEO of a record company and he has more money than God. Joey truly does not understand why he keeps coming to the Belmont when there are much, much fancier places he could easily go to for his coffee and his li’l hazelnut biscotti that he orders every single time. There must be something about this place that he just likes, Joey guesses. The coffee is very good, after all. Nico makes it so beautifully. Anyway, Frank had just shrugged and said that if Joey liked the umbrella so goddamn much, he could have it. Joey was very delighted with his present.

Joey does not fear that the Cartier umbrella will draw the attention of nefarious types to him in the way it would to Frank. He’s happy to admit that, while undoubtedly serving stunning Katherine Hepburn realness on the regular, he most certainly does not look monied in the way that Frank does. Held by him, this umbrella is _clearly_ ironic. If anyone were to be crazy enough to snatch his bag, well, he hopes they enjoy their glittery water bottle, their tub of almonds and their dogeared Andrew Sean Greer novel, because that’s about all they’ll be getting for their trouble.

It’s six thirty am when Joey arrives at the Belmont and Nico has already been bustling around for quite a while, taking in the bakery and dairy deliveries, getting the cranky old heating system humming and making sure everything is up and running ready to open at seven. Joey thinks it’s a bit magical, this early half hour just him and his friend in the closed up coffee house. They haven’t turned the main lights on yet, much too bright, so the room is lit just by the orangey glow of the side lamps. The smell of fresh coffee brewing mingles with the still-warm bakery delivery as it fills the room, and they dance their way around performing their last few chores. They chat a little about the night before. Joey usually tells Nico all his secrets, but he doesn’t mention the dream.

For most of the day they just run continuous playlists through the speakers, but sometimes they make use of the battered old Linn turntable in the corner, the one that Sonny uses when he comes in and runs their vinyl night on Wednesdays. Joey puts a Grace Jones album on and they kindly help her out on ‘Slave to the Rhythm’. Joey waters the plants and Nico finishes filling the tiny jugs with icy-cold milk. In no time at all seven o’clock rolls around. Grace gets slipped back into her sleeve and Nico presses shuffle on a playlist that Joey has titled ‘kawfee haus vibez’ because he is an idiot. They turn the sign around, unlock the door and greet the first few soggy customers as they blow in from the blustery street.

It’s real quiet this morning. Perhaps people are having their coffee at home to avoid the terrible weather, or maybe they’re just bowing their heads and battling straight to work without stopping off along the way. It’s still pretty dark outside, even though the sun is allegedly up now. It should get busier soon. Nico picks up some tongs and starts idly rearranging a pile of muffins into a more pleasing shape inside the glass display.

“So,” they say, casting a pointed glance at the lost property box where it sits forlornly behind the counter, the handle of a star-covered, midnight blue umbrella just poking out. “What are the chances, do you think?”

“Why Nico, I do not know what you mean.”

“Yes you do.”

“Hmm. Of him coming back?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Slim to none,” Joey says, leaning his elbows on the counter. “How much stuff is in that box? It’s overflowing. Most people never come back for their things.” 

“If he did come back though, it wouldn’t necessarily be because he was coming back for the umbrella. You know what I mean?” Nico says, not looking up from the muffin pile.

“Um,” Joey is genuinely flummoxed, “not really?”

“I mean,” Nico continues, still balancing, “most people never come back for their stuff, this is true. But then, most people aren’t knocked sideways by the gorgeousness of the fella behind the counter who gave them a very detailed sandwich recommendation.”

Joey tries not to smile, but a tiny one sneaks through.

“Some might say _too_ detailed.” Nico adds.

“Nahhh, he wasn’t interested. He probably just spoke to me to be nice.”

“Nope. That,” Nico says, triumphantly sitting the last muffin on top of all the others, “was an Italian man being beguiled and trying not to show it.” 

“ _Beguiled_!? You’re hitting me with _beguiled_ now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You been reading without me again?”

“Stop it, I’m serious!”

“Nah, c’mon Nico. I don’t know.”

“Trust me, I seen this look on my brother and his buddies enough times. They try and hide it, but if you know what you’re looking for it’s plain as can be.”

Nico stands back and admires their handiwork. The top muffin tumbles off the pile, and they sigh. They turn to face Joey, who’s standing with one arm wrapped tightly around his middle, the other raised so he can gnaw on his thumbnail.

“Unlike this boy in front of me here.” They fold their arms. “Anybody can see a mile off that this boy is smitten.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“So says the smitten kitten.”

Joey purses his lips at them meaningfully. Then he realises that his behaviour ever since the guy came in yesterday amounts to a pretty damning pile of evidence. His shoulders drop and he gives up.

“Mrraow,” he says, licking one paw and curving it over an imaginary ear. 

“Damn right,” says Nico.

Joey looks down at his hands for a second. His bracelets sparkle in the low light. Pretty.

“He was nice,” he says quietly. “Wasn’t he, Nico?”

“He sure seemed nice, honey.” Nico smiles at him sympathetically. “And handsome? My God!”

“He looked a little like Cary Grant, didn’t he?” He’s smiling properly now, just at the memory. “If Cary Grant was Italian and maybe liked comics. Oh!” He closes his eyes rapturously and spins so that he’s leaning back against the counter, arching backwards over it in a mock swoon. Nico giggles.

“Oh God, Nico give me something to do, please! Anything! I can’t stand here thinking about him all day, I’ll go crazy. Crazy, I tell you!”

“Okay, okay! Alright already! Here.” Nico rummages around under the counter and emerges with a bundle of flyers on pink paper, fresh from the printers. “You can put these out. One on each table, a stack here and a stack by the door. Will that do?”

Joey yoinks them out of Nico’s hand. “Perfect!”

The flyers are printed up with their opening hours and their weekly schedule of events. There’s something happening every night, and the coffee house closes later as the week wears on, building up to the famous _Midnight at the Belmont_ on Saturday nights. Tonight, however, is Craft Club. Aka Stitch ’n’ Bitch, aka Hoes That Sew, aka Skein Queens. 

Joey’s shift ends at midday, but he’s going to come back at six for Craft Club. He’s knitting a scarf based on the snood that Ginger Rogers wore in _The Major and the Minor_ , you know the one? Because the film is black and white he’s not sure what colour it really was, so he’s gone for a beautiful sort of deep magenta. It’s spiderweb fine, and maybe some of the holes are a little bigger or a little more uneven than they’re meant to be, but he’s getting better all the time. When it’s finished it’ll have little crystal beads like garnets twinkling all through it. It’s going to be beautiful.

Joey likes to make things. He’s not really very good at having nothing to do, he ends up frustrated and unhappy. Tonight, Bessie is going to show him the best way to fix more beads onto the edges of his scarf. Bessie’s a good friend. She’s 67 years old, with ebony black hair and she flirts with all the other ladies in the Craft Club like a fucking trouper. Joey really respects the hell out of her for that.

He takes the bundle of flyers and flits around the room, popping one under the flower vase on each table and handing more to the smattering of customers, telling them all that they would just love Stitch ’n’ Bitch, and they really should think about coming, and if they say they can’t knit or anything then he tells them that the ladies will teach them and it’s super fun to learn. 

There’s a little shelf that runs all the way along the bottom edge of both of the Belmont’s big windows, right up to the door, which sits at the corner of the two. There are piles of flyers for various local things all the way along the shelf, along with some plants and other trinkets, and Joey busies himself tidying everything up and rearranging things to make sure his stack of flyers goes in pride of place. He’s vaguely aware of the dark shape of a person approaching the door out of the gloom and he thinks, half distracted, _I’ll let them get in out of the rain and then give them a flyer right away, to make them feel welcome. That’d be cute, right?_

The door jangles open and a cold draught of winter air blows in along with the customer. Joey straightens, flyer in hand and…

“Oh, hey.” Italian Cary Grant is right in front of him, smiling despite being absolutely _drenched_. He looks really, seriously soaked to the skin; he’s standing very close and Joey can see that even his eyelashes are wet. He smells incredible. He’s dripping steadily onto the doormat and he’s instinctively taken the flyer, his eyes not leaving Joey’s. Rainwater from his hand is already turning the cheap paper from pink to red. 

Joey’s thunderstruck. _Think of something, think of something, think of something…_

“You’re really wet.” _Well done, Joe. Scintillating._

“Yeah,” Italian Cary Grant says, placidly looking down at his sodden self. “Don’t tell anyone, but I think it might be raining.”

“Really?” Joey laughs, and the guy cracks an even bigger smile. 

“Oh,” he looks down at the flyer in his hand as if he’s only just noticed it’s there. “I think I ruined this. Sorry.”

“We’ve got plenty, don’t worry.” Joey suddenly realises that he’s kind of trapping the guy on the doormat and stopping him from coming further inside. “Oh, come in, come in! My God you’re soaked. Let me get you something to dry off with.” He wraps his hand around the guy’s forearm. 

_Oh heavens, why did I do that?! He thinks. Well, it’s there now and we’ll just have to live with it. Oh God._

The dripping guy lets himself be led over to the counter where Nico, openly grinning at them, is already holding out a big roll of rough blue paper towels. Joey tears off a generous bunch and hands them to the guy, who immediately starts scrubbing them over his hair.

“Thank you,” he says. His accent is strange: kind of Southern, but with something else in there too. Sharp but soft at the same time, and a little slurry.“Sorry to put you all out like this.” Joey loves how polite he is.

“That’s okay! All part of the service,” Joey says, tearing off another bundle of paper towels and using them to dab, pretty ineffectually, at the guy’s shoulders. _Oh, shoulders_. His leather jacket is really saturated. Nico pipes up from behind the counter,

“Are you staying a while, _compagno_? If you want to take your jacket off, I can put it over the heater back here to dry.” Joey turns and gives them a hard stare, but Nico is refusing to meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” the guy smiles gratefully over at Nico. “Thank you, that’d be great.” 

He starts peeling the wet jacket off, and Joey gets the most ridiculous bashful feeling, like he should look away or something. It’s a _coat_ , for God’s sake.

“Here,” Nico reaches out for it, “gimme the scarf too.”

The guy hands everything over and Nico hurries away to arrange it all over the heater. Joey notices that the formal-looking black shirt he’s wearing underneath hasn’t escaped the rain either. Water has gotten through along the seams of his jacket, leaving the shirt damp and clinging to his shoulders and upper arms. _Oh, arms_. Joey tries not to notice how nice they are. But they’re right there! _Joseph,_ he reprimands himself, _stop objectifying this poor man. It’s not his fault that he’s very, very, very attractive._

As he tears his eyes away from the guy’s biceps, his attention is caught by a little logo embroidered in primary colours against the black fabric that stretches across his chest. ‘Resorts World Casino, New York City’, it reads. And beneath that, ‘Dino’.

 _Dino._ Joey thinks. _Of course. Hi, Dino._

Dino notices him looking.

“Oh, uh, I just came from work. Nights. I deal Blackjack, mostly. Uh, a lot of the tables are electronic now see, but they still have a a few dealers around. I like the work, don’t like the nights. I… don’t know why I’m telling you this.” He smiles a bit sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” Joey says. “I got that kind of face, people just tell me stuff.”

“Then that must be it.”

Joey nods. “If you just got off work you gotta be hungry, boy. Can I get you something?”

“Oh, sure. Yes please.” Dino looks into the glass display, seeming a bit bewildered by the choice. Joey notices for the first time that underneath the rainwater and the distracting handsomeness, the poor guy looks real tired. There are dark smudges under his eyes and he’s moving his head a little stiffly, as though his neck hurts. Joey doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to give someone a cuddle so bad in his life.

“Well, you did a terrific job on that sandwich yesterday,” Dino says, running the now-damp bundle of paper towels under his collar. “Want to pick my breakfast for me too?”

“Oh!” Joey just glows at him, so happy he remembered. “Yes! Um, okay…”

He peers into the cabinet and quickly scans the display. He’s tried pretty much everything at some point, except the few things with meat in them of course. But what might Dino like the best…? A-ha! He straightens up. 

“You like sweet things?”

Dino half smiles at him like he’s said something funny. “Mm-hmm, sure do."

“Then you’ve got to try one of these.” He reaches in with the tongs and grabs a big, pillowy soft spiral bun. It’s bursting with gooey nuts and spices, the top sprinkled with delicate flecks of pink and pale green. “Oh heavens, they’re still warm. You’re so lucky.” 

He puts it carefully on a plate and hands it to Dino. The shakes are back, but they’re not quite so bad this time. Just knowing that this guy’s a real person with a name and a job seems to help.

“It’s cardamom, with rose and pistachio. They’re just the most delicious thing, oh my god. You’ll die, really.” He beams at Dino. “Well, not _really_ really. We’d get shut down. You want a long black with it?”

“Yes I would, please. Your memory is something else.”

“We do our best,” Joey says, and bobs a little curtsey. He does not mention that this is the first time in his life that he’s ever remembered someone’s order after only one visit. Except for that guy who always orders an espresso with a shot of blueberry syrup in it, but that’s just weird. “Take a seat, I’ll bring it over.”

“Thank you. God, my feet are killing me.” He lingers at the counter a second longer though. “Say, who’s that on your shirt today? I don’t recognise her.”

“Hmm?” Joey raises his hand absently to his chest. What is that? That urge to touch wherever Dino’s eyes go? He keeps catching himself doing it. “Oh! Well, I went a little more behind the scenes today, that’s probably why. This is Ida Lupino. Actor; Filmmaker; Queen. Actually, you’re missing the best bit.” Without really thinking about it he turns so that his back is to Dino, and he slips the soft cardigan off his shoulders.

‘I WANT TO ASSOCIATE ONLY WITH BRILLIANT PEOPLE,’ says the quotation written in white text on the back.

Joey turns his head and looks back over his shoulder to see Dino’s reaction.

“I made it myself! Cute, huh?”

And it’s funny, because for once in his life he isn’t thinking about trying to look prettier, or more obliging, or more acceptable or less acceptable. He just wants to share this thing that he thinks is cool, and wants to know what Dino, specifically, thinks of it. But although he’s not trying, not at all, DIno’s face still gets this look as though maybe he’s looking at something lovely. Even though Joey didn’t actually _do_ anything. A tingle like a gentle fingertip runs all the way down Joey’s spine.

“Yeah,” Dino smiles softly. “It’s really cute.”

He meets Joey’s eyes for a couple seconds before looking back down at his plate, still smiling. Then he ambles off, heading for a quiet corner table. Joey spends a moment just blinking after him, then shrugs the cardigan back onto his shoulders and wraps it luxuriously around himself.  
He stands and watches as Dino picks a table underneath the big gilt mirror, the one that has a cosy, if rather shabby, old wingback chair on each side of the battered wooden tabletop.

While he was distracted, a couple more customers have come in and ordered, and Nico’s busily making their drinks. Joey asks Nico to make Dino’s coffee next.

“One long black for your boyfriend, coming right up.”

“Nico, shh!”

“What? I think he likes you.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“I’m just saying. Never mind coffee and cake, dude looked like he wanted to have you for breakfast.”

“Oh, Nico.” He looks away.

“What, you gone all bashful on me now, Joey-boy? It’s true. Here, take this over to him. See if he does it again.”

Nico hands the cup over and Joey carries it very, very carefully over to Dino’s table. It’s nice and warm in this corner, far away from the draughty old door. Dino’s already worked his way through nearly half of the bun. He swallows a big bite just as Joey places the cup down. 

“This is incredible. Thank you.”

“See, didn’t I tell you? They’re the best.”

“Can’t believe I’m having something with flowers in it for breakfast and actually enjoying it. Here,” he nudges the plate towards Joey, “take a piece.”

“I can’t eat your breakfast!” Joey laughs.

“Ah, come on. Just a little piece. I wouldn’t be eating it if it wasn’t for you. I want to share the joy.”

“With me you want to share it?”

“Sure, why not? Please.” He gestures towards the plate and Joey really can’t resist any longer. He’s hungry. It’s still a while before he’ll get to eat something on his break, and the fragrance of the cardamom is wafting up, tempting him. He does love cardamom so very much. Trying to suppress a giggle, he reaches over and tears off a little piece of soft dough.

“This is very illicit,” he says, popping it into his mouth. It’s so light it practically dissolves. “Oh my god,” he says, closing his eyes.

“I promise I won’t tell tell the cops.”

“Good.” Joey says, then puts on his best James Cagney. “You better not rat me out, buster.”

Dino smiles up at him. “Never! I swear.”

Joey’s just thinking of what to say next that’ll keep Dino looking at him like that when he catches sight of the counter. A small line has started to form in his absence. 

“Oh boy, I better get back and help Nico. Anything else you need?”

“Nothing at all, buddy. I am happy as a clam.”

“Okay good.” Joey touches the back of his hand and silently curses himself for touching the back of his hand. Why is he _like_ this? He hurries back to the busy counter.

The morning rush has started in earnest now. It goes on and on, long and unbroken, but Joey doesn’t mind it one bit. People, by his reckoning, are mostly good, aren’t they? When it comes down to it. In New York, even. Okay, they’re busy and they’re cranky sometimes. And it’s early, and the cold rain is lashing down on them. But at the heart of it, they’re just good. Nico keeps telling him he’ll get jaded eventually, and maybe he will. But he just loves people. He loves being surrounded by them, never more comfortable than when he’s engulfed in a crowd.

Most of the customers remember to say please or thank you at least once. Some of them call him buddy, or sweetie, or pal. Even the ones that don’t, the ones who are surly or won’t look him in the eye, he thinks well, maybe they’re on their way someplace they don’t really want to go. Maybe they fought with their sweetheart last night. He tries to be kind.

Some of the customers proffer their own cups and flasks that they brought from home to get filled with hot coffee, and Joey loves that. All different colours and patterns and textures. He loves to think of them picking their cup out, maybe in one of the big old department stores; or maybe someone they love picked it out, to give as a gift. A little bit of comfort rattling round inside their work bag. On and on it goes, on and on.

At first he keeps glancing over at Dino. Look, he’s finished the cardamom bun! Look, he’s staring out the window! Look, he’s messing with… is that an iPod? Well okay, sure! Dino seems to have some intriguingly old-fashioned idiosyncrasies and Joey is burning with curiosity to find out more about him. At least to have a proper conversation with the guy.

The rush intensifies and Joey can only concentrate on what’s happening right in front of him for a while. He still feels peripherally aware of Dino’s presence though, in a funny sort of way. Actually, it's the same as the way that he’s always aware of Nico, except that makes _sense_ because they work together and he’s known Nico for years. He’s known Dino less than 24 hours, if he can even claim that he knows him at all.

The rush is finally beginning to abate when Nico, scanning the room for the person who ordered the soya latte they just made, suddenly nudges Joey hard in the ribs.

“Hey! Ow, Nico,” he frowns. 

“Look.” They point over to the quiet corner. Dino has snuggled back into the chair, rested his curly head against its high winged back, and fallen fast asleep. 

_Oh no he’s adorable_ , thinks Joey.

Dino’s empty cup and plate are pushed away in front of him. The iPod has disappeared into a pocket somewhere, but he still has his headphones on and his rumpled black shirt is pulling awkwardly where his arms are folded across his chest. His face looks so peaceful and endearingly silly too, lightly shmushed as it is against the padded side of the chair.

“Oh, Nico.” Joey says.

“I know.” Nico says, patting his arm gently. A woman comes up and claims the orphaned latte. “Oh, here you go sweetie. Have a good day.” They turn back to Joey. “Just be glad he’s, like, the exact opposite of my type because even I can see that boy’s cute as hell. You want to go wake him up?”

“Yes. But not really. He was so tired.”

“I know honey, but look at him. He’s gonna hurt his neck sleeping like that. He probably needs to go home.”

“I know… but.” Joey looks pained.

“Let’s give him ten minutes, okay? The rush is passing, we don’t need the table. Maybe he’ll wake up on his own.”

“Okay, but I don’t think he will. He’s exhausted.”

“Even more reason to wake him then. What if he has somewhere to be? He might be late. He probably didn’t mean to pass out.”

“Maybe he does have somewhere to be. What if there’s, like, somebody waiting for him at home?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. But I get a feeling… not.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hm.”

“But what if he, you know, he doesn’t have anybody at home but he’s not even queer?”

“Joey, honey. This is a queer coffee house. Our frontage is practically made of rainbows. There’s a an off-duty drag queen sitting in the window drinking a mocha frappuccino. And if that’s not enough, he was looking at you like you were a little cannolo he wanted to snack on. He’s _definitely_ queer.”

“You really think so, Nico?” He looks down at them, so unsure.

“Truly. Why, you gonna ask him out Joey?”

“No! No, I couldn’t. He’s too… no. I don’t think so. No. Maybe?”

“Oh boy,” Nico rolls their eyes. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. For the next couple minutes you’re going to serve the people while I make you a vanilla frap. Then, you are going to have your morning break. You’re going to take your disgusting, over-sweet excuse for coffee over to his table, wake him up and ask if you can join him. Okay?”

“Oh God,” Joey says. It’s a great idea, a really great idea, but at the same time it is the worst idea anyone’s ever had in the entire history of the Earth. It’s going to be wonderful. It’s going to be terrible. He’s going to do it. 

Oh God, he’s going to do it.


	3. Tuesday - Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dino wakes up and Joey takes a break.

i)

Joey carries his glass of iced coffee and his plate over to Dino’s corner. He sets them down gingerly on the table while he decides what to do.

Dino must’ve stirred in his sleep while Joey was distracted, because his face is turned further into the chair’s back now. Joey can see he sweep of one black eyebrow, his cheekbone and not much else. His hair is turning curly and wayward as it dries; it’s completely adorable. There’s one soft flick by his temple that Joey just desperately wants to stick his finger into. It’s _so_ tempting. He shoves his hand under his other arm and squashes it still. 

How to wake him up? It’s kind of an embarrassment of riches. He could call Dino’s name, but it somehow seems a little rude that Joey even _knows_ his name without having been told it. But really the only other options available would involve touching him, and Joey doesn’t want to be too familiar, or to startle the poor guy, or to accidentally give himself another attack of yearning by making physical contact. He looks back at Nico for guidance and moral support, but they just make an encouraging shooing motion and go back to wiping down the countertop.

He approaches quietly, even though the low hubbub of music and customer chatter that fills the coffee house would disguise any noise he might make. Dino’s still got his headphones on anyway, and Joey can just about make out the music coming through them; it’s something echoing and mournful, a bit of country-sounding melancholia. A man with a beautiful baritone voice. 

Standing by Dino’s table he hesitates, wringing his hands together. He reaches out and touches the top of his shoulder, then withdraws. No response. 

“Hey cowboy, c’mon…” he says quietly, thinking a little reference to the music might be a cute way to wake him up. It doesn’t work though.

Again he reaches out, touches more firmly this time and runs his fingers down the outline of one sharp shoulder blade. He makes the mistake of letting his hand come to rest in the middle of Dino’s back. Those sure are some firm muscles. Yes indeed. Oh, heavens.

“Um, Dino?” He says.

“Mmm?” Dino replies. His eyes reluctantly open and he slowly turns his face towards Joey. He seems to be struggling to bring his surroundings into focus, but when his gaze finally settles on Joey a shy smile breaks across his face and Joey thinks that really, honestly, it would be no exaggeration to say that it’s like the fucking sun coming out on the rest of his life. 

ii)

It’s cold at night on the high plains. Fresh dew clings to the outlaw’s clothes. It soaks in, mixes with the sweat of the day and leaves his skin feeling damp and clammy. Next to him he can feel heat radiating from his horse’s tired body, her slow breathing the only sign of another soul resting in the silent dark. The outlaw leans his head against his pack and stares out into the midnight sky, a million stars twinkling overhead with nothing interrupting them but the familiar smile of the moon. 

Footsteps approach as if out of nowhere, soft and tentative. He knows who they belong to and feels a pang of something like hunger, despite his belly being quite full. The outlaw is always on guard, but he knows these steps: it’s the friend, who brings with him only safety and comfort. The outlaw feels the friend gently touch his shoulder and the vast soundtrack of the night glitches for a second, then resumes. The outlaw doesn’t want to move, not at all, but then he feels a hand stroke his back as a distant voice filters through the cold night air,

“Hey cowboy, c’mon… it’s time to ride.”

_No. No, you should come here. Stay._

“Um, Dino?”

_What’s dino? Oh…_

Dino’s eyes blink open, sore not from plains grit but from the usual city grime. And from falling asleep with his fucking contacts in yet again. Reality comes into focus and he sees that the boy from the coffee house is leaning over him, looking a little concerned. One of his slender hands is resting on Dino’s back and that’s, well, that’s a pretty nice way to wake up and no mistake. He tries to lift his head, but a stab of pain flashes from his shoulder right up the back of his neck and buries itself deep in the base of his skull. Shit.

“Ow,” he says, one hand shooting to his neck as if to grab the pain and hold it still. The movement dislodges Joey’s hand from his back and the kid takes a step away. That kind of hurts too, if he’s honest. He pulls his headphones off and rubs at the back of his head, moving his neck around to try and straighten out the kinks.

“Oh no, your poor neck,” the boy says, wincing in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve woken you sooner.”

“My fault for falling asleep.” Dino says, looking up at him a bit sheepishly. “How long was I out?”

“Oh, not long at all. Well, maybe quite a long time? Could be as much as, like, forty-five minutes, I guess. I mean, I’m not sure,” the kid adjusts his stance, dropping one hip like he’s trying to appear nonchalant, “I wasn’t watching or anything.” He wraps his pink cardigan very tightly around himself. He’s looking down at Dino with some uncertainty. “You, uh, you got somewhere you need to be?”

“Other than my bed, no. Nowhere to be.” 

Dino notices that a huge glass of iced coffee with a straw sticking out of it and another of those amazing spiced cake-things have appeared on his table. He definitely did not order those. Ah, they must belong to the kid: “You joining me?”

The boy’s eyes widen.

“Um, joining you in, uh….” He’s gone pinker than his cardigan. Dino realises what that sounded like and laughs.

“At the table! Just at the table.” He smiles up at the boy. “I’m forward but I ain’t that forward.” Dino thought that that sounded reassuring, but it just seems to fluster him even more.

“Oh! Oh, yes, sorry.” He covers his whole face with one hand, embarrassed. He’s lovely, this kid. “Yes please, if you don’t mind. It’s my break see and, and we’re kinda full, so…”

“Sure,” Dino says, pushing the other chair out with his foot and gesturing for the kid to sit down. The place doesn’t look all that full to him, but maybe they don’t like staff to take up a whole table on their break? That wouldn’t surprise him. God knows he’s worked in those kinds of places enough times himself.

Dino pulls his legs in from where they were stretched out under the table, making room. The kid gets himself settled into the cosy chair opposite as Dino watches silently, liking the gentle way he has about him. He toes off his shoes a little awkwardly, sits with his legs folded up under himself and sort of curls up into the corner of the chair, one elbow resting on its padded arm. He smiles across at Dino and, when Dino smiles back, he seems to relax a little right away. Dino can’t say why that pleases him so much, but it does. 

Dino doesn’t usually pay much attention to the way people react to him; he considers that to be their business, not his. He knows he looks a certain way. He knows his quietness is often mistaken for arrogance. He makes it a policy not to care about these things. But he does feel some pride at having done something, whatever it was, to calm this sweet, jittery boy. Dino’s never seen him stay still for this long before, so he takes a moment to consider the figure snuggled into the chair opposite him. He’s real interesting to look at. Quite something, in fact. 

His feet are neatly tucked under him, but Dino can see that he’s wearing mismatched neon socks, one green and one pink. He has a lot of stuff around his wrists that’s all gotten kind of jumbled together into a glittery mass; Dino can just about make out some jelly bracelets all in rose and lilac tones, a couple chains set with sparkly crystals, and what looks like a very old ladies’ cocktail watch on a delicate silvery band, the kind where you have to wind it up yourself to make it go. It would be far too small on most men, but the kid’s so slim that it looks right on him.

He leans forward and happily picks up his enormous iced coffee, regarding Dino through hazel eyes framed with very thick black lashes. Dino can’t decide if he has eye make-up on; he doesn’t _think_ he has. When he was back West, he had a few friends who did drag and you could always tell when they’d done a show the night before because there would be vague traces of make-up left behind, smudged into their eyelashes. That’s what the kid looks like, like maybe he’d worn kohl around his eyes at the weekend and Dino’s just seeing what’s left of it. Whatever it is that he’s doing, it looks good on him. An image of Bambi flits across Dino’s mind.

“What?” The boy’s smiling, looking down at himself, trying to figure out what’s caught Dino’s attention.

“Oh,” Dino says, a little embarrassed to have been caught staring, “I was just looking at your watch. It’s nice.”

“Thanks! It’s really old.” The kid touches his own wrist where the watch lies. He looks genuinely pleased at the compliment. He stretches his arm across the table, nearly knocking Dino’s empty cup over in his haste to offer him a closer look. “It was my grandma’s, she gave it to me. Before that it was my great-grandma’s, isn’t that a beautiful thing? She was a chorus girl right here in New York. She was so glamorous, oh my God you wouldn’t believe it! She looked just like Hedy Lamarr. Seriously, just _drowning_ in sequins, I gag every time I see her picture.” 

Dino takes his wrist in one hand and brings it closer so that he can see the watch more clearly. It’s set with what look like tiny chips of diamond, some of which are missing, and its stationary hands are showing a quarter to four.

Joey pauses, swallowing hard. He seems to be malfunctioning. “Inside the watch doesn’t, uh, doesn’t work no more but I think it’s… uh… I think it’s so pretty anyway…“ the kid’s gaze has left Dino’s face and he’s staring down at where his hand is now nestled in Dino’s broad palm; he looks up again, helplessly, “… don’t you?”

“Real pretty,” says Dino. “It suits you.”

The kid shyly withdraws his hand and tucks it back into his lap.

“Thank you,” he says. He takes a demure little sip of his coffee and peeps at Dino over the rim of the glass. When he sees that he’s still being watched he quickly averts his gaze, straw still between his lips. Dino finds it so sweetly funny he catches himself smiling at him while he isn’t looking.

This boy’s sharper than he looks. He must be in his early twenties, Dino reckons, but somehow he manages to seem both younger and older at the same time. When he’s not working, dashing around, eager to please, there’s an intense sort of intelligence about him. Dino feels… it sounds so stupid, but he feels like the boy’s got the measure of him already. He suddenly feels like all his deepest secrets are flashing in neon over his head. He doesn’t quite understand why he’s not hating that.

But wait. When he woke up, the kid even knew his name and Dino sure doesn’t remember telling it to him.

“Hey, how did you know my name?”

“Wow,” the kid says, “you really are sleepy. It’s written on your shirt.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah it is.” He feels slightly foolish, but wouldn’t dream of letting it show. “Unless you’re secretly Ida Lupino, yours isn’t.”

“Ha, I wish!” The boy says, smiling broadly. “I’m Joey. Not Joe, thank you. Joey.”

“Glad to meet you, Joey,” he says, and he can’t remember the last time he meant it so sincerely.

“Likewise,” Joey says, and takes another prim little sip of coffee.

Despite all the delicious caffeine and sugar he’s consumed he still feels like he’s half asleep; the low lamplight on this dark morning, the gentle sound of the rain outside and Joey’s inexplicably comforting presence are lulling him into a very pleasant sort of fuzziness. He sighs contentedly.

Joey puts his coffee down on the table and reaches over to his plate for the bun. “Here,” he says, tearing off a significant piece and holding it out to Dino. “Repayment.”

Dino takes it and stuffs the entire thing into his mouth in one go, comically fast. “I ain’t gonna argue with that,” he says with his mouth full, making Joey laugh.

“And here I thought you were sophisticated!”

“Well I don’t know what in hell gave you that idea,” Dino says, still chewing, and Joey laughs again.

His giggles help to break the spell of the morning a bit. Dino feels as though the end of his shift at the Casino was a very long time ago and, though he knows it took him over an hour to get here, he can’t quite remember the journey; it’s all a blur. It’s like he just left work and magically woke up here with Joey’s hand resting softly against his back. The uncanny familiarity of the friend in his dream has stayed with him like a low, warm note sustaining and it’s having a disconcerting effect, blending dream and reality. He blinks sleepily at his companion and thinks about sustenance, and generosity, and the shared breakfasts now split between their bellies.

Joey has rested his head against the high, winged back of the chair and is nibbling on a torn piece of dough, his head tilted slightly to one side. The bubble of nervous energy around him seems to have burst entirely now. Dino likes him. He likes him even more today than he did yesterday.

“You don’t say a whole lot, do you.” Joey says. It doesn’t sound accusatory, more just a statement of fact.

“Not much. Sorry.”

“Oh no, I like it. Nico always says I talk enough for three people anyhow.” He turns slightly and beams over at the counter, pointing. “That’s Nico.”

“Hi Nico,” Dino says, not really loudly enough for them to hear. “They sure make good… wait, ‘they’, this is correct?” Joey nods happily and Dino continues. “They sure make good coffee.”

“Could be a little stronger though, huh, the coffee? More pep?” He looks at Dino playfully.

“What are you trying to say here?”

“I’m saying I think you might be tired, bubbe.”

Dino knows when he’s being teased. He drags a hand over his face and tries to ignore the audible rasp of stubble.

“I’m exhausted,” he says simply. “Would’ve taken rocket fuel to keep me awake just now.”

“Bad shift?”

“Two words: bachelor party.”

“Oh my god! Oh, no. Straight boys?”

“Uh-huh. In finance”

“Oh, _no_.”

Dino laughs. “I guess they could’ve been worse. Damn good tippers, at least.”

“Well that’s something.”

“They were okay, I kept ‘em in order. And concentrating on the game, that I’m used to. But sometimes it’s just being on your feet all night. Really takes it out of a guy.”

“Tell me about it. A whole lot of my friends are performers,” Joey takes a sip of his coffee, “a couple actors, but mostly other stuff. All the time they bitch about how it’s such hard work being on stage. I say honey, try a ten hour shift serving coffee, then you’ll know from hard work.”

“You sound like my nonna!” Dino says. Joey pulls a face and chucks a piece of bun at him; he catches it in his mouth. “So, how do you know these people?” He asks, chewing. “You’re a performer too?” 

“Uh,” Joey pops another bit of dough into his own mouth, chews and swallows, looking suspiciously like he’s playing for time. This seems to be an uncomfortable subject for him. “No, not really. Maybe sometimes, kind of? Just now and then, just for fun. We have our show here late on Saturdays; Sophie organises it, she’s a dreamboat. So, sometimes I do a number then.” He looks over at Dino a bit shyly.

“What kind of a number?”

“Oh, it’s really nothing at all. You don’t need to know about it, honest. I hardly ever get up there.” He grips his glass tighter, with both hands. “But we get such great people! And everyone dresses up like they’re going to, like, a gorgeous fifties nightclub, you know? It’s such a good excuse to get something nice to wear,” he gives Dino just the most dazzling smile. “That’s what I like to do. When the tips are good, anyhow. The way this week is turning out, maybe not so much.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Dino says sincerely. “I’m still not sure what type of show is it, though.”

“So, it’s kind of in the spirit of the old-time Vaudeville? But with some cabaret thrown in. Oh, and some burlesque. Sometimes boylesque, then I really don’t know where to put myself, oh my God!” He laughs, and covers his eyes for a second. “Some weeks we get a singer and, oh, I love that. Hmmm.” He seems to drift off for a second, them remembers his point. “Officially it’s called _Sophie Tucker’s Palace of Varieties_ but that’s kind of a mouthful, so usually everybody just calls it _Midnight at the Belmont_. Shorter, see. Sonny suggested we just call it _The Mouthful_ , which _is_ funny but also kind of vulgar don’t you think? Sonny means well, but he’s an idiot.”

“Sonny, he works here too?”

“Naw, he’s just a friend. Here,” Joey pulls the pink flyer with the Belmont’s schedule on it out from underneath their table’s flower arrangement and pushes it in front of Dino. “On Wednesdays he hosts our vinyl night. Well, I say ‘night’, but it’s vinyl afternoon really ‘cause we don’t have a late license for for Wednesdays so we have to finish at nine, ha!” He points out the listing, “Sonny’s Vinyl Kingdom, see?”

“Wait, hold on a minute. Is this Sonny _King_?”

“Well, that’s his name, yeah.”

“Stocky guy from Brooklyn? Italian?”

“Yeah!”

“Really, I mean, _really_ loud? Sings for no reason?”

“Oh, that sounds right!”

“Must be! I mean, my God, let’s hope there’s only one of him.”

“So, you know Sonny?”

“Know him! We were roommates a couple years back. We still hang out all the time, I can’t believe he never told me about this place.”

“Well, he ain’t been coming here long, maybe that’s why. God, Sonny always says he knows everybody, I guess he’s right!”

Dino nods in agreement. “He’s just that kind of guy.”

“He’s really good, I like the stuff he plays.”

“Yeah, Sonny knows music. And he’s here tomorrow night, right?”

“Sure! You, uh,” Joey casually stirs the straw around in his glass, “you think you might come see him?”

“Well my shift doesn’t start till ten tomorrow night, so why not? I could come for a little while.”

Joey is biting his lower lip savagely, looking like he’s trying to suppress the most enormous smile and not making a very good job of it. This is not a boy built for restraint, Dino thinks. Everything he feels seems to radiate out of him for the world to see. Radiant is a good word for Joey, actually.

“Oh yay!” Joey claps his hands together. “That’s good! I mean, I’m sure you’ll have a really good time! Sonny’s so good, and we always get good people showing up for it. It’ll be really, um… really… good.” Joey’s expression turns from pure joy to about the closest thing you could get to a facepalm without his palm actually being on his face.

“Okay, then. I like things that are good.” Dino says, smiling at him fondly.

“Well, that’s good.” Joey says, smiling back.

Suddenly a holler comes from the direction of the counter.

“Hey, Levitch! You still workin’ here?”

Joey startles and Dino looks over his shoulder to see Nico standing at the register, their hands on their hips and a pile of dirty cups and plates looming on the work surface behind them.

“Oh boy,” he whispers to Joey. “I think you’re in trouble.”

Joey twists around and calls back to them, “I’m really sorry Nico!”

“I’m really sorry too, Nico!” Dino chimes in.

“Don’t give me sorry, buddy, just tell Joey to get his sweet ass over here and deal with this mess.”

“Joey,” Dino says very, very seriously, “you get your sweet ass over there and deal with that mess.”

Joey goes bright pink and laughs as he untangles his long limbs from his curled-up sitting position. “Okay, okay, okay!” He says. Dino makes to stand up too, and Joey looks alarmed.

“But, you don’t have to leave!”

“I need to get home, really,” Dino says, ruffling a hand through his hair and stretching just right so his back gives a satisfying crack. He doesn’t want to let on that half the reason he’s so sleepy is that normally, after a night shift, he would’ve been safely tucked up in bed hours ago. It might be just a bit too confronting to start examining why he’s here instead of there. “But thank you, for this.” He says, and makes a vague gesture towards the table. It doesn’t seem enough, but he’s too tired to come up with any more words.

“Oh yes, of course! You must be so sleepy, poor thing,” Joey says, and strokes his fingertips down Dino’s upper arm. His eyes widen for a second, and he looks accusingly down at his own hand, as though it’s betrayed him. He rallies quickly though. “C’mon, come with me and we’ll get your jacket from the heater. Should be much drier by now, huh? And I’ll dig your umbrella out of the lost box too.”

“Hmm?”

“Your umbrella, Snoozy! You know, the one you left here yesterday? The whole reason you came back?”

“Oh, oh yeah!” Dino says, scratching the back of his head as he follows Joey towards the counter. “Almost forgot.”

“Don’t want to leave without it, you’ll get soaked all over again! Don’t you got a spare one at home?”

“Hoo, boy. You’re crediting me with a level of foresight there that I just do not have.”

Joey’s already ducked down behind the counter, pulling an old cardboard box off its shelf and rummaging around inside. There’s a small poster from the movie _The Lost Boys_ roughly taped to the side of the box.

“Here it is,” Joey says, emerging victoriously with Dino’s umbrella. Dino can see that it’s been dried and neatly rolled up. “See, we took good care of it for you.” He holds it out to Dino with both hands, almost shyly.

“Thank you,” Dino says. 

He doesn’t say that he’s glad Joey remembered which umbrella is the one he left behind yesterday because he’s not sure he would have been able to recall what it looked like himself. He doesn’t say that the only reason he’d had an umbrella with him at all was because he’d fished this one out of the lost box at the Casino, in an attempt not to get too drenched on the way to his appointment in the Village. He doesn’t say that this particular piece of property, far from being a precious possession worth coming all the way back here for, doesn’t even belong to him. He doesn’t say how very, very far out of the way of both his work and his home this cosy little coffee shop is. He doesn’t even dare to think about what the real reason he came all this way might be.

Joey is holding his jacket out to him now, all dry and warm, and just like that there’s nothing more to do except haul it on and leave. But he’s glad that he’s leaving with a real good, solid reason to come back. God bless Sonny. So he just says thank you, and thank you Nico, and goodbye, and goodbye Nico, and see you guys later. He takes one last, long look at the willowy boy standing behind the counter, all wrapped up in mohair and glitter, gnawing on the thumbnail of one hand and waving goodbye in that peculiar way of his with the other. Dino waves back. Then it’s on with the headphones, up with the umbrella, and out into the cold city rain.

iii)

Joey’s hands are still shaking very slightly when he takes an empty tray over to the corner table where they had been sitting, intending to clear the remains of their breakfast away. He likes thinking of it as ‘theirs’. ‘This is where we had breakfast’. ‘We had breakfast together.’ That sounds nice, right? He’d liked it, very much.

He pauses and looks up at the big old gilt-framed mirror hanging on the wall above the table. The frame has seen better days. It’s kind of battered and in some places the gilding has worn away, exposing the big secret that underneath all those gleaming swags and flowers there’s just carved wood. Some of the silvery backing has fluttered away from the glass, giving the mirror a smoky, indefinite quality. 

Joey stands still for a moment, just looking. 

Sometimes, truly, he feels like he has been here for a hundred years. An old soul, that’s what Grandma Sarah used to say.

_So many things you love come from when I was a girl, bubbeleh. Don’t neglect your own century._

He likes his reflection in this mirror much more than any other; it lends everything such a glamorous, old-fashioned quality. Looking at himself in it, his hair seems softer and his eyes sparkle almost as much as his bracelets. There’s a blossomy sweetness to his appearance that he knows isn’t real. He touches his cheeks, still sore from smiling. This mirror, he thinks, smooths the rough edges off. It soothes away the goofiness and the awkwardness and the cheapness that he always sees lurking not far beneath this surface he’s created. He kind of wishes that Dino could have seen him just through the mirror, maybe then he would stand a chance with a boy like that. Oh, let’s be real here. A man like that.

Ida Lupino smoulders out from between the fluffy edges of his cardigan. _Okay Ida, I get it_ , he thinks. _Quit your judging, girl_. He takes a deep breath and pulls himself together. Time to get on with real life.

As he begins to clear the table he notices something tucked just underneath Dino’s empty coffee cup; it’s one of their flyers, neatly folded into quarters. Joey slides it out from under the cup and sees that his name is written on the front. He opens it up, and can’t keep his mouth from dropping open when he sees that the flyer has been carefully wrapped around a crisp fifty dollar bill. Written on the back of the flyer is a cellphone number, followed by a short note in adorably tidy cursive: 

‘A gift from the straight boys in finance.  
See you tomorrow,  
Dino x’


	4. Tuesday - Craft Club

Joey officially regrets choosing such tiny beads to weave into the knit of his scarf. They’re so pretty, sparkling there like little garnets, but they sure are difficult to work with. He’s poured the whole bag of beads into a shallow cup in hopes of making things easier for himself, but every time he tries to pick one up he somehow dislodges a ton of others and they spill out onto the tabletop and skitter away. He sighs dejectedly as yet another bead rolls across the table and flings itself to the floor. Maybe textiles are just not his medium.

“Again?” Bessie says, peering at him over the top of her red half-moon glasses as he ducks under the table for the fifth time this evening.

“They just won’t sit still, Miss B!”

“Well, you let them know they’ll be getting a telling off from me if they don’t behave.” Bessie’s knitting needles don’t stop moving clickety-clack as she speaks, even though she’s looking at Joey and ignoring the half-formed sweater springing to life in front of her. “And you mind your head, sugar.” 

Joey emerges carefully, and pops the bead back into his cup. He picks it up and looks inside. “I think they heard you, they’re quaking in here,” he says.

“Good.” 

Joey grins at her and picks up his project again. It’s… really not going very well. The problem is that he’s too distracted, that’s what’s really the issue here. There are two important things currently secreted away in his jeans pocket and they’re both burning a hole there like two drops of molten lava. One of the things is that shiny new fifty dollar bill but the fifty is the easier one of the two, really. Oh, he just so wants to run over to No Relation and blow it all on something pretty for Saturday night. He’s only working during the day on Saturday, he isn’t working the evening shift at all, so going to Sophie’s show is just all for F-U-N, and really he could wear anything he wanted and he wouldn’t have to worry about standing up all night or getting messy or anything. He could serve any look his imagination could come up with, oh _mercy!_ What he could do with fifty dollars and a couple hours among those rails. His heart’s beating faster just thinking about it.

And that’s what Dino must’ve intended for him to do with it, right? That’s what they were talking about after all, not buying groceries or the leak under Joey’s kitchen sink that needs fixing, or any other boring things that a person might need a little extra money for. They were specifically talking about buying something nice when the tips are good. And Dino’s tips were good, so. The fact that he chose to share with Joey like that still kind of makes his heart explode, truly. But there it is. Maybe money burns a hole in Dino’s pocket a little bit too. 

Even harder to get out of his head is the note. The note! Oh boy, it’s quite the triple-whammy. First, well last really, but first: that little x at the end. It’s only one little x, so tiny. But blown up so very, very large in Joey’s imagination. Maybe, though, Dino is the sort of person who puts an ‘x’ on every little thing he writes. Maybe he even puts one at the end of his texts, like Grandma Sarah used to do. But even with all these wonderings the x is still undeniable. He can take the note out and look at it anytime he wants and that x will be right there, burning.

‘See you tomorrow’, that’s another thing Joey can’t stop thinking about. And there was no need to put that if he didn’t mean it, no need at all. Joey knows of course that Dino did say he’d come to Sonny’s vinyl night, but people say nice things they don’t mean every minute of every day. Even so, he could’ve easily put ‘best wishes’ or ‘fondest regards’. Or ‘have a nice life’ or nothing at all. But he didn’t, he put ’see you tomorrow’ and that sounds like a promise.

And then. Oh. And _then_. The cellphone number. The number alone makes Joey’s whole chest ache. Maybe, really, even if Dino does come back tomorrow night, it’ll be mostly just to see his friend Sonny. He pretty much said so after all, didn’t he? But that’s okay. God love Sonny for his incredible ability to know half the population of New York; it finally came in handy. But the number means… the number means Dino wants that Joey should send him a message, right? Not call him of course, that would be insane. But maybe send him a message? And it would be polite to let Dino know that he got the gift, anyhow, and how very much he appreciates it. That’s just plain good manners.

It’s just that, for the life of him Joey can’t think what he should say in the message. He keeps putting it off because he just can’t think what to write. It needs to be funny, but smart, and also sincere, and not too long, and maybe a little flirty, but not too flirty. A perfect level of flirt so Dino will recognise it if he wants to recognise it, but there’s still plausible deniability if he doesn’t. These are the nuances that are making Joey’s head spin. 

He’s put the number carefully into his phone, checked and double checked it just in case he should lose the note (he would never lose the note). He’s even added all the individual numbers up together and worked them down into one single digit, just to see what would happen. He came up with three in the end and, well, three is a really good number. A _really_ good number. He knows it might not actually be Dino’s own number, numerologically speaking, but right now it’s all he’s got and boy, he likes the number three. It’s warm and bright and creative and sensual and all the things he likes the best. Oh, boy.

“Hey, Joey?” Bessie says.

It’s such a good number for Dino, Joey thinks. Hopes. He doesn’t really know him yet of course, even though it feels kind of like he does. And this is just thinking about the note, really, this is not even thinking about Dino himself! He could think about his fingers so gentle around Joey’s wrist and how it tingled, his palm cradling Joey’s whole hand as he looked at Grandma Sarah’s watch. Joey had barely even been able to think straight when he did that, if you’ll pardon the pun. 

“Joey? Earth to Joey?”

And the way Dino had stuffed that big piece of the bun they’d shared in his mouth all in one go, real silly, just to make Joey laugh. And he did laugh, and it felt delicious. And how, a couple times, he could’ve sworn Dino was looking into him, so warm and sweet, and that’d never happened before with anyone and Joey didn’t quite know what to do about it. And he smelled so good and his hair was damp and curly and his leather jacket creaked a little when he moved. And Joey still doesn’t know what the mournful cowboy music was, or what was in the comic book bag yesterday, and huh, was it really only yesterday?

“Joey! Child, are you gonna knit that thing or just sit there staring at it?”

“Oh! Sorry Miss B, I’m sorry! I don’t know where my head went.”

“Hmph,” Bessie said, giving him a very pointed look over the top of her half-moons. “I sure do. Thinking about that Italian boy.” She cracks a small, knowing smile.

“Why Miss Bessie,” Joey says, putting on his best southern belle accent to try and cover up the fact that he can feel himself going pink, “I just don’t know what you can possibly mean.”

“Hmm, bet you regret telling me about him now,” Bessie chuckles to herself. Joey loves Bessie’s laugh; it’s deep, and rounded with a lovely huskiness to it.

“Never, Miss B,” he says honestly, back inside his own voice. “I need your wisdom, to tell me how to get this boy out of my head so I can live.”

“Sugar,” Bessie says, shaking her head, “if I had answer to that I’d bottle it and be a millionaire by now.”

Joey just sighs, and closes his eyes for a second. It is so super fucking hard to concentrate on his project. But he just loves Stitch ’n’ Bitch anyway. He loves making things, and he loves gatherings of friends, and he loves Bessie: the whole thing is perfect. He takes a deep breath, and brings himself back into the present. Eyes open. He looks at the lovely people around him.

They’ve pushed a few mismatched tables together in the centre of the shop floor to make one big surface so that everyone can work and chat together. Tonight there are only eight of them; usually there’s more, but it is a wet and windy evening, and Joey can hardly blame the others for wanting to stay warm and dry at home. He thinks eight is a real good turnout, considering.

Bessie and Sylvia are there as always, running the show. They bicker fondly with each other as they help the raggedy crew gathered around them learn how to knit or quilt or appliqué, or do pretty much any kind of needlework they like. The Craft Club is mostly made up of elderly (but don’t call them that) lesbians who just want people to chat with while they sew, and a rag-tag gang of queer children keen to learn more than just needlework from their elders. Oh, and Henry too, of course, when he can get away from his over-protective grandson. Henry uses a walker and his beautiful musician’s mind is getting a little loose now, but he loves to sit quietly and beam at the friends around him. Plus he can still crochet like a motherfucker, so Joey thinks good for him.

People tend to think that Bessie and Sylvia are a couple but they’re not, they’ve just been friends for so long that they treat each other with the same kind of loving disregard as old marrieds. They both live in the same apartment block where they are regarded as something akin to household saints, as much a part of the fabric of the building as the bricks themselves. If anything were to happen to Bessie or Sylvia, then surely the whole place would crumble.

Bessie turns to the quiet, turquoise-haired teen next to her and begins helping them cast off the scarf they’re knitting, so Joey decides to listen in and see if he can pick up any tips. After only a minute or so a noise outside attracts his attention and he looks up from his work just in time to see a big, sleek black car pull up and park, very illegally, right next to the Belmont’s entrance. The front passenger door swings smoothly open and a gentleman of absolutely enormous bulk slowly unfolds himself onto the sidewalk. The armoire in a suit lumbers around the car, casting suspicious glances all about him as he goes. Joey peers out through the evening gloom to get a better look, and can just about see the man’s massive hand reaching over to open the car’s rear door, and his unruly, sandy-coloured hair darkening as it gets soaked with rain. Oh, it’s Sully! And where there’s Sully there’s… 

Frank emerges from the car. He’s wearing a steel grey suit cut as sharp as his cheekbones. Joey always thinks that everything about Frank looks as though it could potentially slice a person if they’re not careful. He crosses the sidewalk and saunters into the coffee house, while Sully hurries around, seeing the car off and then filling the doorway behind him. Frank pauses for a second, cooly observing the rearrangement of furniture for Craft Club and brushing a few stray raindrops from his shoulders. The rain doesn’t have the nerve to drench Frank the way it does everybody else. Instead it’s just made him glitter slightly in a tasteful, low-key kind of way. Joey waves at him, delighted.

“Hey Frankie! You’re right on time for Stitch ’n’ Bitch! Did you bring your needles?” He grins up at Frank as he makes his way over. 

“Hey kid,” Frank says, ruffling Joey’s hair and ignoring the question. He leans on the back of Joey’s chair. Joey peeps round him at Sully.

“Hi Sully,” he stage-whispers. Sully gives him a sweet smile and an awkward little wave as he slides into his usual seat right next to the door. His knees bump the underside of his table as he sits down, making the whole thing rattle loudly. Poor Sully just about manages to catch the little tabletop flower arrangement before it crashes to the floor. Frank just rolls his eyes. There’s something very endearing about the way Sully moves, Joey thinks. It’s as though he believes that if he can only try hard enough then he won’t be so enormous. It’s like watching the Chrysler Building try to be discreet.

Sully’s been Frank’s bodyguard for as long as Joey’s known Frank. He reminds him of one of those big Irish rugby players, those guys who are all massive shoulders and bashed-up bones. He has a thick, heavy brow set over a nose that looks as if it’s been broken so many times it’s forgotten what a nose is supposed to look like. Joey thinks he’s heard Sully speak maybe four, five times in the whole time he’s known him, and most of those were saying sorry for knocking something over. 

The very first time Frank brought Sully in Joey took his order and ever since then he’s just brought him exactly the same thing, to spare him the ordeal of having to articulate it again. Sully seems grateful for that, and Joey secretly thinks he looks adorable sitting on guard at his draughty door-side table, occasionally sipping his little cup of earl grey tea. One time, Joey got a tiny bit tipsy at Jazz Night and asked Sully if he thought he’d be able to pick him up and spin him around. Turns out Sully could, very easily. God, that might be the most fun Joey’s ever had with his clothes on.

“So what are we making here?” Frank asks, leaning over Joey’s shoulder to get a better look. 

“Aw, Frankie,” Joey sighs, “it’s supposed to be a scarf. I had this cute idea to make something like the snood Ginger Rogers wears in that scene in _The Major and the Minor_ , you know the one?”

“Oh, sure, sure,” says Frank. Joey purses his lips at him, sure Frank’s fibbing.

“Bessie helped me get the pattern and everything, and I’m sure it’ll be beautiful eventually but right now… oh dear. First I’m dropping stitches, then I’m dropping beads, now I’m just getting all tangled up and, I don’t know. Maybe the fibre arts just aren’t for me.” He lets his hands fall into his lap on top of the crumpled scarf.

“Joseph Levitch,” says Bessie, “I will not hear such talk in this club. What, pray, is our motto?”

“‘Anything not on fire can be salvaged’, Miss B.”

“Damn right. Now you just keep going and I’ll be over directly. Francis Albert, you help that boy.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” says Frank with a little salute, pulling a chair over from a nearby table. 

Bessie is the only person in New York City, maybe the only person in the whole _world_ , who could get away with talking to Frank like that. Joey thinks maybe it’s because he’s heard her sing. Bessie sings like the angels are listening, and Frank respects that kind of talent like nothing else. Also, everybody needs someone to tell them the truth now and then no matter what, right? And Bessie sure does that for Frank. Joey still shivers when he remembers the hush that fell over the Belmont when Bessie told Frank that she didn’t like his hat. You could’ve heard the wind whistling through that silence. This was just before Frank started laughing hysterically, so it was okay once he did that because everyone knew it was safe to join in. Joey thought the hat was nice but then he’s only 22 years old, what does he know?

“Bless you Frankie, you don’t really need to help me. I’m gonna give it a rest for a second anyway.” He pushes the cup of beads away and sets his knitting down on the table, shaking his hands out to loosen up the cramped joints. The action makes his bracelets jangle together, catching Frank’s attention. He reaches out and takes hold of Joey’s fingers, bringing his hand toward him and Joey’s thoughts tumble back to another hand, warmer, rougher. Slower, either from an exhausted nap or maybe just a sleepy temperament. _Real pretty_. Thick black lashes, the glimmer of old diamonds in the grey morning light, the lingering taste of sugar in his mouth. _It suits you_. He swallows.

“You got new ones?” Frank says.

“Hmm?” Joey feels a bit dazed. Frank’s hand is nice but smaller, cooler, his grip a little sharper. Dino’s grip wasn’t even a grip, really. More an invitation to rest there. Joey doesn’t mind though. He doesn’t mind people touching him, if he likes them. It’s fine. And he does like Frank, he really does, very much, even with that tiny gleaming edge of something like fear that he feels around him. He does wish though, that his head wouldn’t spin so when people do touch him. It’s… it makes it hard to think.

“These,” Frank runs one finger over the soft plastic of a couple of Joey’s rose-coloured bracelets.

“Oh, yes! New ones,” he says, coming back down to earth. “I went on a Claire’s spree, Frankie! Like you in Cartier but with buy-one-get-one-free so, you know. Better.”

Frank laughs and shakes his head. He rubs his thumb lightly over Joey’s knuckles, but his grip on his fingers tightens slightly until it’s just a little harder than it really needs to be. He looks Joey right in the eye.

“Any time you want to come to Fifth Avenue with me kid, just say the word.”

Joey wonders if Frank gets lonesome too sometimes. Up there in his boardroom with everything shiny and still.

“You know I can’t afford them apples, Frankie.” Joey says and then quickly, before Frank can say the thing he thinks he might be going to say next, he asks, “you want the usual?”

Frank smiles at him, maybe a little sad, and lets go of his hand.

“Sure kid, sure.”

Joey sees pictures of Frank all the time, usually at some big industry awards or a fancy party or something like that. Grammys, Oscars, Met Gala. All those things. Joey’s dazzled just thinking that someone he knows, someone who he sits and talks with on the regular just like a normal person, goes to those things. And when he sees those pictures of Frank in his beautiful tuxedo, Frank’s always with some gorgeous woman all swathed in glamour and diamonds. She’s always his latest signing, or she had the biggest-selling album of the year, or she’s favourite for Actress in a Leading Role. Never someone he actually looks connected to, though. And never, ever, ever a boy. It makes Joey feel sad to think of it, of all these lovely memories that Frank should really want to treasure with someone special, all transmuted into somebody else’s career opportunity. Still. Frank’s a grown-up, and he would surely be exploding with rage if he so much as considered that anybody might have the temerity to feel sorry for him.

The thing that’s most frightening about Frank is that he’s frightened, Joey thinks. All that power, all that money, all that success: still frightened. Frank reminds Joey of a shard of glass. He’s that smooth and sharp, and potentially that lethal. But just about that brittle too.

Joey’s not even on shift at the moment, he’s officially a customer right now. But Frank is his friend.

“Come talk to me while I make your coffee, Frankie,” he says, rising from his chair and smiling down warmly at him. “Tell me what records I wanna be listening to next week.”

ii) 

Joey knows that he shouldn’t use his phone in the bathtub, it really is just asking for trouble. Especially now, when he might possibly have mixed himself a tiny cosmopolitan, and he might’ve poured a little into his favourite cocktail glass with the cherries on it, and he might be drinking it in the tub while he’s soaking. 

It’s just after 11pm and the dark bathroom is glowing with low light from his mishmash of candles all shapes and sizes. Outside, rain patters against the old sash window. It creaks occasionally and lets in a breath of chill night air, making the candles closest to it flicker. The room is still warm and cosy, though. Today’s worn clothes lie in a tired heap next to the door, and Joey’s draped his robe over the radiator so that it’ll be toasty when he slips it on later. He’s up to his shoulders in far too many billowing, rose-scented bubbles and he would be happy as a lark were it not for the empty messaging screen still staring him blankly in the face.

_Hi Dino!_ \- no, boring, delete.

_Hey Dino_ \- no.

_Dino, I_ \- nuh-uh.

_Hey gurl!_ \- oh no, definitely not.

Hmm. Why is it so hard?

_Hi Dino!_

Maybe that’s not so bad after all, he guesses. It sounds like him, at least. Perhaps that’s the key. Just to be honest.

_Your note made me so happy._

Too much? But it feels good to remove the need for a decision between the truth and what sounds good, or better, or best. Okay. Just tell the truth, no thinking allowed.

_Thank you for the gift, it was a wonderful surprise. Ulysses S. Grant and I will be visiting No Relation Vintage asap and only one of us will be coming home._

Also true.

_See you tomorrow._

Oh please please please please.

_Joey_ \- hmm

_Joey xx_ \- too much, again.

_Joey <3_\- aw, c’mon.

_Joey x_

Send.

Joey closes his eyes tight for a second, then leans over the side of the bath to retrieve his glass from the floor and take a long, fortifying drink. As he settles back into the warm bubbles he risks a look at the screen and can barely believe it when he see that the rippling grey dots have already appeared.

_You’d do that to old Uly?_ Dino writes. Joey actually laughs out loud, and it echos against the tiles.

_For the sake of some pre-loved eveningwear, yes I would._

_More ruthless than I thought._ Dino writes. He’s replying straight away! This is so much better than Joey had anticipated.

_I’m a big tough city boy, you should know this. Did you make it home before you fell asleep again?_

_I did. At work now though. Struggling._

_Struggling?_

The grey dots are back. They ripple and ripple and… a photo appears. Joey gasps and looks away before he can take it in properly. He cautiously looks back, savouring the suspense. A picture! It’s Dino, in his black work shirt that’s too small across the shoulders, the collar pulling awkwardly because of it. He still looks very sleepy, but a little more put-together than the last time Joey saw him. He’s shaved, his hair is tamed. He looks so handsome. He’s leaning back against what Joey guesses must be a blackjack table, it’s a green baize semicircle with white markings on it that he doesn’t understand. Dino holds a steaming mug of something, more coffee most likely, and printed across the front of it is the legend, ‘I’d rather be at Resorts World Casino New York City!!’ Dino’s eyebrow is wryly raised, suggesting that in fact he’d rather be pretty much anywhere else except Resorts World Casino New York City. He’s captioned the photo _Struggling_. The dots appear again.

_What are you doing while I’m working my tail off?_

Oh no! Is it alright for Joey to say that he’s taking a bath and having a little cosmo? No, Dino will think he’s a crazy old lady! And it seems a little, well, a little intimate to tell him that. Might as well just say, ‘I was lying here, naked, tipsy, thinking of you.’ Oh heavens, no! That’s way too much. 

The mischievous part of his brain does wonder, though… wonders what would happen, what Dino would think… if he sent a picture. Just a little one. The light is nice in here, he’s warm and comfortable and he thinks, just for a moment, that he might look okay in a picture, all wet hair and bare shoulders in the soft candlelight. What would Dino say? He shakes the thought off. He mustn’t embarrass himself, he just can’t. He probably just looks like a drowned rat in a power cut anyway. He carefully writes,

_Home._ There. Nice and vague.

_Just home?_ Dino replies, almost immediately.

_I didn’t want to say home, super relaxed, about to go to sleep. Seems mean._

_That’s okay, I’m used to it. Still hate working nights though. Your night sounds much better._

_Poor bubbe._

_I am a poor bubbe, whatever that is._

Joey laughs again. He realises he’s sitting up now, leaning over his phone, cradling it tenderly in both hands in a way he’s sure he’s never felt the need to before. He feels kind of lit up inside, and he’s pretty sure it’s not just the effects of his cosmo. While he’s still thinking about what to write next the dots appear again.

_Shit. Break over. Manager kindly reminded me._

Joey knows he shouldn’t be surprised. He knows he was so lucky to catch Dino on his break at all. But still, he feels the delicate strand of connection between them stretching thin. Dino hasn’t finished though. He adds,

_I’ll see you tomorrow?_

Joey grins. He can see his knuckles pale where he’s clutching the phone.

_Yes,_ he types. _I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you again for my present._

_Goodnight x_

OH, another x! Joey can feel his breathing going a bit funny. He wants to giggle like a maniac. He wants to throw open the window, stand there dripping and yell ‘I’LL SEE HIM TOMORROW!’ into the foggy night sky. He doesn’t. Instead he types,

_x_

He can think of nothing more eloquent to say. Dino goes quiet after that, and Joey lies back in his bubbles, still clutching his phone. He imagines Dino back at work, charming the gamblers, being smart and patient and funny with his stupid, sexy shirt that doesn’t fit him and his phone tucked away snug in his back pocket. _My words are in there, Joey thinks. He’s carrying my words around with him in his pocket, secret._ He loves the thought of it.

Leaning over the side of the tub, he puts his phone down on the floor a good, safe distance away, like the sensible, cautious boy he can be when he tries. He stares into space for a moment, trying to compute everything that happened today. He can’t think straight though, can’t even stifle his grin or his need to wriggle with excitement. So instead, he releases the grip of his feet on the bottom of the tub and lets his whole body slide with a whoosh under the water, suds slopping over the sides of the tub and staining the wooden floorboards below. He lies underwater, eyes tight shut against the sting of soap, letting the water roar in his ears and feeling his lungs and his heart burn with something he thinks isn’t so much lack of oxygen as pure breathless joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's now a little drabble for this chapter, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137018/chapters/64331575).


	5. Wednesday - A Morning Off

It’ll be dawn soon, but the sun’s not quite ready to come up yet. The moon lingers, translucent now but still shining movie bright. Her silver light is gently kissing the city awake. In Joey’s quiet little attic bedroom the window is cracked the tiniest bit open, letting in a chill breeze along with the rain’s easy patter. A book has been left absentmindedly on the windowsill and it’s getting damp, but Joey won’t realise until he finds it days from now and wonders why the cover’s got stuck to the wood. He’ll decide Mrs Goldschmidt must’ve had a hand in it. The room is dark, save for the fairy lights twined around his bedstead like rambling roses, their warm glow gleaming off the brass.

The digital display on Joey’s old clock-radio flicks over to 6.30am and the radio clicks on to WBGO. ‘These Foolish Things’ is halfway through and its tinkling piano keys shimmer into his sleepy head. Lying on his side right in the centre of his ginormous bed Joey feels like a boy made of gravity, deep blue and starfull like the nighttime. He’s sunk impossibly deep into the mattress and covered with a billowing cloud of pillows and comforters, all washed soft in a jumble of shades of blush and smoke and peach. He’s so comfy. He’s dimly aware that his limbs are aching from being in the same position for too long but, like the sun, he doesn’t want to rise just yet. 

He has slept and slept, silent and dark. There was a dream though, he dreamed a little dream. Of him. It hasn’t fled completely, he can feel one fine glimmering thread of it still caught in his fingers, tangled up his arm like a spiderweb clinging. If he moves he’s sure it’ll fray away to nothing.

It was his neck, in the dream. His neck and the vulnerable top part of his spine. He can still feel it. Him. Lips, fingers. And being held still, all the way around his ticklish waist. He keeps very still, feeling the echoes of it. Even though he’s more awake with each second that passes he still feels it, exciting and comforting both at the same time. A connection, something sustaining that he can’t quite place or define. Something luminously new. He lies still still still so still, and breathes deep.

On the radio, the song ends and the host with the smoky voice cuts in. Joey’s awake now, but he puts off the part where he opens his eyes. He doesn’t want the lights to go up just yet on the interior of his little bedroom where there isn’t anybody. The distant murmur of traffic noise and rain outside, the pillow’s texture against his face, all these small details slowly begin to resolve. The sensation of being held becomes the feel of his soft sleep camisole where it’s become twisted around his body in the night; the lips on his neck, the brush of a blanket’s edge. He kisses the dream goodbye and lets it drift away.

Pushing his bare arms up out of the covers and into the cool morning air he indulges in a delicious stretch, arching from his fingers right down to his toes. He feels like a sleepy little cat. On the nightstand his phone is charging, screen dark. He picks it up to take a look at the world and, oh! 

Two messages from Dino? Messages. From Dino. And two of them, the messages. From Dino. 

He blinks at the notifications, then rubs his hazy eyes and looks again. Still there. Not looking away from the screen even for a second he pulls the phone into bed with him, cradling it as he curls into a ball beneath the blankets. He holds his breath, and opens the first message. The timestamp reads 02:14am.

_Another SBiF won big, $200 tip for your humble dealer. Do you get a break tonight? Coffee’s on me._

Joey’s heart goes from zero to sixty in under a second. He is _vibrating_. That’s like, that’s like a date, right? Kind of like a date within a date, because Dino’s coming to the Belmont anyways but also in addition to that he wants to spend Joey’s break with him and buy him coffee and that’s really something, isn’t it? That’s a real thing. He doesn’t even have to pay for his breaktime coffee usually, but he’s not going to let Dino know that. He’ll have to tell Nico to shush.

He reads the message again and establishes that yes, it is definitely real. ‘Another SBiF’, that’s a Straight Boy in Finance, he knows that right away so that means it’s little thing between them now. They have a thing, like a little in-joke just for them. He has those with Nico too and heavens, he always feels so fuzzy and nice when one of those things comes up in their conversation. It’s so special. And now he has one with Dino too. Already! He can barely believe it. 

He closes his eyes for a second, just to recover, phew. Then he opens them again to look at the next message.

It’s a photo, but not of Dino this time. It’s a photo of what he would describe as The Worst Danish In The World. The pastry is winter pale, and some kind of toxic orange goop has been splatted into the middle of it. It also looks like it’s maybe been sat on, perhaps in an attempt to put the wretched thing out of its misery. It’s the saddest lil’ Danish Joey has ever seen. 

To the right of where the plate sits on the dark marble tabletop Joey can see the same corporate mug Dino was holding in the photo last night. It’s brimming with thick, frankly rancid-looking coffee and lying beside it is what he thinks is the mouthpiece part of a JUUL. The timestamp on the message is 04:46am, and beneath the photo Dino has written:

_You’ve ruined me for other breakfasts._

Oh! Joey’s face goes hot and he laughs out loud, startling himself with how intimate it sounds inside his blanket nest. He presses his lips tight together and types:

_That breakfast looks like it’ll ruin you all by itself, bubbe._

Send. He’s trying to figure out the most charming way to say yes to Dino’s offer when those little grey dots appear and his heart skips.

_You think that’s bad? Six months ago it would’ve been that, plus three cigarettes._

Oh, he’s right there! He’s right there on the other side of the screen! Joey thinks quick sharp what to say next.

_What flavor vape?_

_Tobacco flavor_

_WHAT???_

_What’s wrong with that?_

_How about all the yummy flavours you can get? Like caramel or vanilla or all the different fruity ones?_

_Makes no sense. It ain’t strawberries I’m addicted to._

Joey rolls onto his back and laughs. Oh boy, Dino is just too much! He snuggles deeper into the bed, grinning fit to bust. 

_Okay, you maybe have a point_

His thumbs hesitate over the screen for a second, then he types,

_Speaking of caramel…_

_We were speaking of caramel?_

_We were speaking of caramel. On my break tonight, which is at 6pm so don’t be late, I would like a large caramel coconut frappuccino, if you please sir. And a vegan chocolate chip cookie, but I need to choose my own cookie because Nico will try to give me one with too much chocolate and I want one with the correct ratio._

_Ay ay ay, wait a minute. Someone said you were getting a cookie?_

Joey pauses, and a ragged fingernail finds its way to his mouth. Did he overdo it? He always overdoes it. Fuck! Did he? Or is Dino kidding? Maybe he’s kidding? Oh, oh _dear_. Umm. He decides the only way to find out for sure is to brazen it out: go big or go home. Oh lord.

_Sure I get a cookie, I got this friend who’s come into money. He’s gonna buy me one because I’ve been such a good boy._

The gap before the next message comes is longer than the last, but it comes. Joey’s poor heart is going to give out with this stress.

_Okay you can have a cookie_

Thank heavens! Then:

_You call my breakfast ruinous. Your dinner order is pure sugar_

Joey smiles.

 _I know, it’s why I’m such a sweetheart_ 😇

Oh, Joey feels so happy! It’s just so lovely having somebody to talk to like this, somebody he likes, who seems to be nice and to maybe like him a little too. And who’s so tall and handsome and has arms he just wants to fucking sink his teeth into. Before he can get carried away, another message pops up.

_Sure it is. What are you doing today? I just finished work, you caught me on my way out. Going to buy food, then home._

_I have the morning off, I’m in bed still_

_God, don’t. I’m so tired_

_I’m not, I had a real good sleep..._

_Did I mention I was tired?_

_...all night long_

_Now you’re just boasting_

The same cute idea that tempted Joey last night flits back into his head. Should he?

_I’m sooooo comfy_

Should he?

_Stop_

_And warmmmmm_

Maybe he should just do it?

_I’m going to cry if you don’t stop_

He probably should do it. He shifts onto his back. Yes, he definitely should. Oh God. He holds the phone up over his face, takes a deep breath and touches the little camera icon. 

On the screen he looks kind of fuzzy in the dim morning light, but that’s probably just as well; he has only just woken up, after all. Plus the gauzy petals of the fairy lights make the colors golden, which is prettier anyway. That helps. His hair is sticking up in downy tufts and his eyes look darker than they really are. Trying not to think too much, he wriggles his shoulders back into the pillow and pulls the covers up demurely to cover his chest. He tips his chin up, makes a pouty poor-little-Dino face and… snap! It looks okay, he thinks it looks okay but he doesn’t want to think too hard even. He writes,

_Don’t cry, bubbe_

And, send! Oh lord. It’s funny, right? He’s just teasing, it’s supposed to be funny. Maybe he’s teasing a tiny bit in the other way too, but just for fun. Just for giggles. Okay. He looks again at the photo he just sent and realises that while he looks okay, in the sense that he looks kind of soft and maybe nice in the specific way that he likes, he does also look kind of… well… a little bit naked. Because the straps of the cami he wears to sleep in are made from like a very very fine stretchy lace and it’s extremely chic but what he hadn’t realised when he took the picture was that one of them had actually slipped clean off his shoulder. And the other, because it’s only tiny and the light was so fuzzy, well. You couldn’t really see it. Oh heavens! Now he wonders what on earth he thought he was doing. What’s Dino going to think of him? He gnaws another fingernail.

The grey dots appear. Oh god. They disappear, but before he has chance to die of embarrassment they come back. Then,

 _Now I really am going to cry._

Oh lord, wait, is that good? That could be good! But he could mean good crying or bad crying. Goddamnit, where’s Nico when you need them? He needs to talk to Nico about this _immediately_. They always know just what to do. He suddenly feels out of his depth. 

Oh God, the dots are here again. There’s more yet?

_Why am I standing in the rain on a cold street corner while this is going on in the world?_

That’s… well, that’s… undeniable. Isn’t it. That’s a solid flirt, he doesn’t even need Nico to confirm it. But then, maybe Dino just means sleeping, maybe he means ‘why am I here when I could be sleeping’? Oh, now he doesn’t know what to say; his brain is completely fried and it’s not even 7am. He’s so giddy. He just sends,

😊

Then a thought occurs.

_Wait. WHY are you standing in the rain on a cold street corner?_

There’s another longish pause.

_I got to the store but someone’s distracting me from going in and getting my groceries._

_Me?_

_No, Carmen Miranda. Of course you!_

_Dino you’re crazy, get out of the rain! Then go home and sleep, poor bubbe_

_I still don’t really know what a bubbe is, but I’m starting to believe that I am one_

_Are you out of the rain yet?_

_I’m going, I’m going!_

_Okay, good. Get your groceries then sleep, and I’ll see you tonight._

He's about to put his phone down, exhausted, when he thinks of one more thing.

 _Oh! By the way - good morning ☺️_

There’s a pause and Joey thinks maybe that’s it, maybe Dino’s already tucked his phone away and headed into the store. He’s wrong, though. One last message comes through:

_Good morning, sweetheart_

And with that Joey combusts so hard the aftershocks are felt in the farthest reaches of the tri-state area. Seriously: buildings crumble. People talk about it for weeks. It makes the evening news. 

In the hours and hours, or maybe it might possibly be seconds, that it takes for Joey’s heart to stop pounding, his attention turns, as it always does sooner or later, to his closet. And more specifically, to the eternal, burning question: what the ever-loving fuck is he going to wear?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Black_Bellmont, whose comment gave me the idea of Dino sending a picture of his terrible breakfast to Joey <3 <3 <3


	6. Wednesday - Afternoon Shift

i)

In the corner of Joey’s bedroom there’s a lovely old freestanding mirror. It’s a tall, slender oval mounted inside a mahogany frame. Inset into the frame are tiny pieces of iridescent shell, all made to look like a flower garland twining around the outside. When he looks in this mirror he can see his whole entire self, all at once. Grandma Sarah told him that the name for this type of mirror is a cheval mirror, because it has four legs like a horse. He was much younger when she told him this though, and he didn’t know then that ‘cheval’ meant ‘horse’ so he was confused as to what this horsey had to do with anything. He remembers nodding very sagely anyway, _yes Grandma I see_ , before turning back to her collection of glittering glass necklaces where he’d been carefully untangling and laying them out on the bed for her. She would look at them and tell him their stories.

He stands in front of the mirror now and takes a long, steady look at the boy he sees reflected. He’s already fortified himself with a huge cup of honey-laced cinnamon tea, plus half a mango and then some cherries too because he was still hungry. He was so lost in thought during the mango that he barely remembers eating it, except that he accidentally jabbed his thumb with his little mango-eating knife. After he’d finished breakfast he’d brushed his teeth and then shaved very, very closely, the action itself pulling him back again to last night’s dream of Dino’s lips against his neck. 

He hopes Dino got home okay. An image of him laden with grocery bags, dropping his keys onto the kitchen counter appears. He hopes he’s warm and dry, maybe drifting off to sleep already. He looks around his bedroom, with its clutter and its quirks and all the little tchotchkes he’s collected and he wonders what Dino’s room looks like. He can’t imagine it would look anything like his. But then, he can’t really imagine where Dino lives at all. It strikes him as funny that he’s never thought of him even having a home before now, as though if he’s not at the Belmont or the casino he just turns to smoke or something.

Outside, the sun has come up and its pale light is shining on the wet sidewalks and the earliest new green leaves. It looks like being a beautifully fresh almost-spring day. Joey doesn’t have to be at work until twelve, so the whole morning he has to himself! He’s going to get dressed, pick out a record from his collection for Sonny’s Vinyl Kingdom tonight, then take the Leica to the park and see about getting some pictures now that the rain has finally stopped. He loves to go to the park and take pictures, it is one of his absolute favorite things to do in the whole world. And he wants all the best, most favorite things for today. But first, there’s the wonderful but heaven knows _tricky_ matter of clothes.

He has to admit that his reflection looks a mite silly this morning. The boy in the mirror is still wearing his soft jersey sleep set with its pattern of old roses and lace around the edges, but over the top he’s put his very thickest, butchest robe. It’s the one that’s plaid flannel in all autumnal colors on the outside, then the lining like a teddy bear’s fur inside. Well, alright, perhaps it’s not so very butch by most people’s standards. But by Joey’s? Super butch. It could be a robe maybe for a lumberjack who likes to be cosy when he gets out of the tub, who knows?

On Joey’s poor feet, which are still sore from Monday thank you, he’s wearing fluffy white socks which are slouching down around his ankles. Between those and the shorts, his long legs look even more spindly than usual and maybe that’s a big part of why he thinks he looks silly. His hair is still tufting up all over the place and boy oh _boy_ , does he have some work to do. Okay. He takes a deep breath. Right: to the closet.

ii)

“You look very stunning today, Nico.”

Behind the counter Nico frowns and looks down at themself. Shirt, jeans, boots. Belmont-branded apron. “I’m wearing exactly what I wear every day, you crazy kid.”

Joey’s so happy, his fingers are itching to pick Nico up and spin them around but he restrains himself because he doesn’t want to get overexcited and he also doesn’t want Nico to hit him. He’s so happy because he's fresh from the park, where he had a wonderful time and thinks he got some real good pictures; he's thrilled with the outfit he put together for himself today; and now he’s starting his shift at work with his favorite person in all the world. Today is a good day.

“And what does that tell you, Nico?”

Nico looks up from the sandwich toaster just long enough to give him a complexly executed, deeply eloquent shrug, and Joey’s reminded that the reason Nico has no room for gender is because of all the Italian. 

“It tells you that you look stunning _every_ fucking day.”

Nico laughs and Joey absolutely beams at them. He takes his duster coat off and hangs it on the little hook that he always hangs his coat on, ignoring as he does so the apron he’s supposed to put on that he always decides not to put on. He figures, what’s the point of keeping the outfit clean if nobody gets to see it anyway? 

He’s preserved the feeling of last night’s dream in today’s clothes, he realises. Neck exposed, waist cinched. The sweater he eventually picked out, after much consideration, is oversized in an airy, fluffy knit of palest, palest lilac, a shade like mother-of-pearl. It has a wide v-neck that’s so loose it’s nearly slipping off his shoulder like a fine camisole strap.

He’s tucked the sweater into washed-out grey mom jeans and wrapped his middle up with the loveliest belt he owns. Seriously, it’s stellar. He got it from No Relation and he thinks they probably got it directly from the eighties. He likes to imagine the lady who bought it when it was new, bopping into some gorgeous boutique in her power suit and saying yes, that is the belt I shall wear for cocktails tonight with my beau. Aww, he loves that lady. This is why he likes old clothes you see, they have stories. Anyway. 

The belt part is black suede, but the buckle. Oh the buckle! It’s a gold metal shape filled with enamel in all jewel shades with the tiniest little details. And the shape, you ask? It’s orchids. Orchid flowers, a great bunch of them! With elegant leaves and tendrils spilling out toward the pinch of his waist. So beautiful. The mechanism is kind of complicated and difficult to work; in fact Joey had a date once refer to it as ‘Joan Collins’ chastity belt’, but he doesn’t care. He loves it, and today it’s holding him tight around his waist just like Dino’s hands in his dream.

Around his wrists he’s piled fine gold bangles and pearl bracelets, all fake of course. The gold is just brassy metal and the pearls are just glass beads coated in plastic. Do you know about how real pearls are made? Joey know this, he learned it in a book about jewelry. It’s so interesting. 

So the little shellfish that makes the pearl, she has a tiny grain of sand or a little fragment inside her shell and it’s irritating her. Which is completely understandable, Joey absolutely sees where she’s coming from. Who wouldn’t be irritated? So she, queen that she is, covers the little grain in this gorgeous substance called nacre, and slowly she builds it up in layers like soft light around the sharp, hurtful little thing inside her. And slowly, slowly over time she turns it into a pearl. Isn’t that beautiful? Someday he’d like to have a pearl for himself, a real one. That’d be perfect.

Joey never, ever could’ve worn an outfit like this back in Irvington, not in a million years. Much as he would’ve liked to. He prefers to keep all his blood inside his body where it belongs, thank you. This is a Village outfit, through and through. On his way to work today he was even channelling the belt lady, you know? She’s having drinks with her bff; she’s getting her nails did; she’s ticking errands off her list like she’s ticking off her beau when he doesn’t give her the respect she’s due. She wants her life on the level, her boss on the back foot and her salad dressing on the side. She’s perfect, no one can touch her. Did he mention that he feels good today? Oh, heavens!

Having hung his coat and safely stashed away both his camera and the record he picked out for tonight, he gets to work on the slowly-building queue, and dammit if he isn’t charming the holy living shit out of everybody. His happiness is infectious and before long the Belmont feels like it’s buzzing with the same irresistible energy that’s pulsing inside his heart. He even catches Nico smiling at him for no obvious reason. The lunchtime clatter builds and the coffee shop gets warmer and warmer, the lamps glow and the big windows steam up until the outside world is blurred and faded, just an inconvenient memory. Today the Belmont feels even more than usual like the safe little cocoon it really, truly is.

iii)

It’s mid-afternoon and the Belmont is in the midst of its post-lunch/pre-schoolkids lull. With fewer people inside now, the warmth that built up over the afternoon begins to dissipate. The cooler air on Joey’s neck is making him shiver, so Nico lends him their knock-off McQueen scarf to wrap up in, the one with the slightly wonky skull print. It smells of Nico and grounds him beautifully, which is just as well because he’s so excited about tonight he thinks he might burst. Right now he’s a little nervous though. Over by the register, he stands as still as he can manage, hugging himself tight and gnawing the nail of his pinky finger right down to the quick. He watches Nico closely as they lean on the counter, clutching his phone and intently scrolling through this morning’s conversation with Dino. He knows exactly what’s coming. They look up and,

“You sent a picture, you little flirt!” 

There it is. Joey tries to defend himself. “He sent one first!” 

“Sure he did,” Nico says, not taking their eyes off the screen, “but it looks like _he_ was wearing clothes.”

“I was wearing clothes! How dare you, Nico! You just can’t really see ‘em, is all. I didn’t realise before I sent it.” 

“Oh, of course you didn’t.” Nico looks up and raises an eyebrow at him.

“I _didn’t_ Nico!” 

“Don’t stamp your little foot at me!”

“Well!” He hugs himself tight and looks at the floor. “I really didn’t mean to. Honest.”

“Hey,” Nico reaches out to him and gently rubs his arm. “I believe you. I’m just teasing.” They look at him in their special, steady Nico way. ”But you know, it’s okay to flirt with him if you want to. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. ‘Specially not with me.”

“I know. I do know. It’s just, I’m trying to be good.”

“I know you are, honey. But it’s not like before, is it? You really like this guy.”

“I do. I really, really do. Like, a lot.”

“And it sure looks like the feeling’s mutual.”

“You think so Nico? Truly?”

“Are you kidding me?! You did read these, right?” Nico sticks Joey’s phone in his face. “I mean, _‘Good morning, sweetheart’_? At the end of a whole conversation? That’s some Cary Grant shit right there.”

Joey tries to stop his face from smiling, but it can’t be done.

“I told you before honey, and I’ll tell you again: he likes you. And he’s coming tonight, huh?”

“Yes! He got a big tip at the casino so he’s going to buy me coffee and a cookie on my break.”

Nico frowns. “Yeah I saw that, but you know you don’t have to pay for your-”

“Shush, Nico!” He presses a single finger against their lips. “Don’t spoil it.” 

A customer comes to the register then, and Joey’s grateful for the distraction. 

“Hi! What can I get you? Oh, I love your earrings! Are they peridot? Let me guess: August birthday, yes? Yes!” The customer laughs and gently touches one ear, pleased. She chats and orders while Nico retreats to the espresso machine muttering,

“You’re gonna bankrupt your new boyfriend for no reason, is all I’m saying.”

Joey sticks his tongue out at them, and they return the favor. He doesn’t care. It’s a Good Thing, he thinks, to accept the generosity Dino’s offering. He wants to be welcoming, to feel abundant. He wants to take so that he has an excuse to give back. He hopes Dino won’t miss a few dollar too badly, for the sake of a nice thing like that.

A little later on, Joey glances up at the Belmont's big old wall clock and realises that Sonny will probably be here soon. It always takes him a while to get everything set up for vinyl night. Just like always, he’ll explode through the door with his bags and record cases and bound around the Belmont, hugging Nico and Joey so enthusiastically that it’ll actually slightly hurt. Then he’ll put in his usual setting-up order of two sandwiches and an extra large, extra shot, extra hot long black. Sonny just calls it ‘an extra’. _Baby, get me a couple sandwiches and an extra will ya, I’m dying over here._ Sonny only ever calls Joey ‘Baby’; Nico he calls ‘Boss’. To be honest Joey fucking loves him for that. Nico likes to pretend Sonny’s a pain in the ass who does nothing but get under their feet, but Joey knows they love him as much as he does really, underneath. Like really, really deep underneath. Super well hidden. 

Sonny’ll make a lot of noise and act so crazy it’ll make them laugh till their sides hurt, just like every Wednesday. But this Wednesday Joey will look at him a little bit differently, because this Wednesday he knows that Sonny has a link to Dino. They’re friends. They _lived together_. Heavens! He can’t imagine what someone as quiet and steady as Dino would want with a relentless ball of energy like Sonny but maybe, he has to acknowledge, that’s because he doesn’t really know Dino all that well yet. SO much to learn still! 

It’ll be so lovely to see Sonny again, and thinking about him sets Joey to thinking about who else might come to the Belmont tonight to listen to Sonny’s records. Frank, certainly, and therefore Sully of course. Frank won’t bring any vinyl, he never does, which strikes Joey as curious behaviour for a guy who owns a record company. But he’ll sit at his usual table with his usual order, listening intently and discreetly tapping his impeccably-shod foot. Sully will sit with his lil’ cup of tea doing his draughty door-side sentry duty, giving away absolutely nothing about his enjoyment or otherwise of the music being played. His demeanour will be so statue-like that Joey will wonder for the hundredth time if he’s somehow cultured the ability to actually turn his ears off at Frank’s command.

Bessie and Sylvia won’t come because they need a gorgeous, well-earned night off after Craft Club, but some of the stitch ’n’ bitch kids will be there: all trying to out-obscure each other with their record choices, all taken down a peg when Sonny displays his encyclopaedic knowledge of whatever obscure disco seven-inch they thought they were the first person to listen to since 1978. Honestly, it’s kind of hilarious, the kids reverently offering up their treasures to the king and then Sonny coming on like a Brooklyn auto mechanic faced with a clapped-out carburettor. _Hey kid, whatcha got there? Nix, huh? Oh nice, Taana Gardner. Pre-Heatbeat too. Hmm, well, y’know. Ain’t the club mix though, see kid. Gotta be careful if you wanna get them deep cuts. Word to the wise, huh?_ He always plays ‘em anyway though. Sonny is a good soul.

Heaven knows which of Joey's other friends might arrive over the course of the afternoon. It’s so exciting! Maybe Sammy? Maybe Janet? His eyes are sparkling and he’s smiling so hard now that the next guy in line looks at him a little funny as he orders his coffee and cake. Once the guy's paid Joey wishes him just absolutely the _best_ day and the poor guy replies “Uh-huh” before moving quickly away. Joey doesn’t care a bit. Every time the little bell above the door tinkles and somebody new comes in he glances up to see if it’s a friend or maybe, maybe maybe maybe _pleeeese_ , even Dino. He hopes Dino comes. He hopes Dino gets here by six. He hopes Dino still likes him. He hopes, and he hopes, and he hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter helped me realise two things:
> 
> 1) Joey says _Nico_ in just the same tone that Alexis says _David_ in Schitt's Creek.
> 
> 2) I give Joey all the outfits I would wear myself if I had the confidence. So I'm really sorry about all the overly detailed descriptions of clothes, it's just years and years of frustrated outlandish dressing coming out.


	7. Wednesday - Sonny

“You made him eat vegan cheese?!”

Sonny had arrived late as usual, blustering in like a hurricane and hugging everybody in sight. Joey plated up two thick pastrami sandwiches for him and made his ‘extra’, then carefully carried everything over to the corner where he was setting up ready for vinyl night. He took the opportunity to mention, only so very casually mention, that he’d met a good buddy of Sonny’s just this week. Oh what was his name now, was it maybe something Italian, like Dino or something like that? Hmm. He couldn’t keep up the pretence of indifference for long though, and before he knew it he’d told Sonny the whole story, texting and all.

“That’s the part you single out?! I didn’t ‘make him’ eat it Sonny, he just ate it. It’s a good sandwich! What? Why are you making that face, what’s the matter with you?”

“What’s the matter with him, more like. Vegan cheese!”

“You’re very rude, Sonny.” Joey says, folding his arms.

“Yeah, I know.” Sonny grins at him and gives him a nudge. “You still love me though, don’t you Baby?”

“You know I do.”

“Good boy.” Sonny says, and pats him on the ass. 

Joey truly doesn’t know why his friends all pat him, well… _there_ so much. He doesn’t mind it, it’s just that it does seem a little bit unusual. Even Nico does it, and always in such a sweet way too. He doesn’t know what he ever did to prompt it, it’s not like he goes around in booty shorts with ‘PAT ME FONDLY’ on the back. _He_ never pats anyone’s ass. A person’s ass is pretty much their own business, as far as Joey’s concerned. One day, he thinks, he’s really got to ask Nico to explain to him why his friends are so drawn to that particular part of his anatomy.

He likes when Sonny does it, it’s friendly-like. Joey’s not attracted to Sonny at all. Like, at _all_. But he does have a nice way of being gentle and rough at the same time, which Joey appreciates a lot. He’s also a very open type of person, and Joey likes that too. He always feels safe when Sonny’s around. Joey heads back to the counter to carry on with his work but every once in a while he glances over at Sonny setting up in the corner, laughing with Nico when he starts cursing the inevitable tangle of wires he gets himself wrapped up in.

At exactly 5.35pm a harassed young advertising junior walks into the Belmont and orders eleven different coffees and a ton of pastries for all her coworkers who are, she says, about to pull a late one at the office. It’s the Fischler account she tells Joey with wide-eyed emphasis, and he nods like yes, he knows _exactly_ how significant the Fischler account is. Apparently, Joey learns, it’s super duper important so heaven only knows when they’ll get home. She’s terribly worried her cat will starve. Joey tries to take this into account and not judge her too harshly for being a little rude when Nico asks her to repeat a couple things as she places her order. People are not allowed to be rude to Nico. 

It’s Joey’s turn to be barista this afternoon while Nico persons the till. So, he immediately gets to work on the enormous order, at the same time trying to work out in his head exactly how he’s going to configure bags and trays so that the poor woman can carry everything without it all capsizing. 

He’s ploughing through the list of coffees, concentrating hard, back turned to the counter and working on a double macchiato when he hears Nico say,

“Oh, ciao amico! Come stai?” 

Joey’s ears immediately prick up. Then another voice, warm and familiar, replies,

“Bene, grazie. You doing okay Nico?”

He feels like someone just thumped him right in the centre of his chest. Okay, breathe. He desperately wants to turn around, but he’ll definitely scald his hand if he does that right now. He can _feel_ the glee in Nico’s voice when they say.

“I’m okay, buddy. I’m good. What can I get you today?”

“Well, hmm, let me see.” He’s smiling, Joey can hear him smiling! “I guess I’ll get a large coconut caramel frappuccino please Nico.”

Oh! That’s Joey’s coffee! Dino’s doing the thing! Oh, he wants to turn around so _bad_.

“Not your usual,” Nico says.

“Nooo, sure is not. Maybe give me the usual too though, please.”

“Okay, sure sure. Anything else for you?”

“Uh-huh, two chocolate chip cookies. But… I gotta say, I’ve heard some things about you and, uh, cookie ratios?”

“Oh, _really_?” Nico says. They’ve turned away from Dino and they’re glaring at Joey now, he can feel the heat of it against the back of his head.

Joey is dying, he’s trapped at the espresso machine and he’s _dying_. He glances round quickly, still trying to make coffees at the same time.

“Hi! I can, oh shit, I can choose them!” Now there’s chocolate powder everywhere, fuck.

“You’ll have to,” Nico says, “nobody else understands your dumb ratios anyway.”

Joey smiles winningly and blows them a kiss, then knocks the cinnamon shaker over. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with him.

“Okay,” Nico says, turning back to Dino. “So I got one large coconut caramel frap, one long black, and two choc chip cookies on hold until His Majesty is free to select them. Anything else?”

“Oh, yeah. Almost forgot!” 

_What did Dino forget?_ Joey thinks. _That’s it, that’s the whole order._ Dino continues,

“Can I get a boy to go with it, please? Short hair, kind of willowy? Eyes hazel, if you’ve got ‘em.”

Oh god, Joey is dying. He is D-Y-I-N-G. He’s going so pink, he can feel the flush creeping up his neck. He grins so big it closes his eyes for him.

“Sure thing,” Nico laughs. “You want small, regular or large?”

“Uh, about six feet?”

“Oh, extra large, then. Freakish.”

“Hey!” Joey calls out. “We can’t all be miniature you know, Nico. Rude.”

Nico ignores him, narrowing their eyes at Dino and asking,

“Questo ragazzo, ne vuoi uno carino?” 

“Oh sì, davvero carino, per favore. Il più carino.”

“Risposta corretta,” Nico shrugs. 1

“Aw, that’s not fair you guys!” Joey cranes over his shoulder, trying to get some sense of what’s going on. “Are you guys talking about me?” He looks back down at what he’s doing. Well shit, that’s got to be the worst cappuccino he’s ever made. “I can tell when you’re talking about me, Nico!”

“We’re not talking about you! Jesus, get over yourself.” They nod towards Joey. “Knows no Italian, this one.”

“That’s a lie!” Joey says. “I know ‘una vodka mirtillo rosso, per favore’ and I know ‘no, non in bagno. È disgustoso lì dentro’.” 2 He finishes with a little curtsey.

Dino laughs while Nico covers their face with their palm. Shaking their head, they shoo Dino away, saying,

“Go take a seat and I’ll send _all_ of your order right on over.”

“Thank you Nico.” Dino sounds very sincere. 

Joey’s getting so close to the end of the office lady’s order now, only two coffees to go. She’s talking anxiously on her phone while she waits for them, clearly trying to join in with a meeting from where she stands. She startles when a voice hollers from the other side of the Belmont,

“Fuckin’ hell, if it ain’t Kid Crotchet!” 

Sonny comes barrelling over from the the record player corner, crashing into Dino and squashing him into one of his bear hugs. Joey can actually hear Dino’s old leather jacket creak in protest as Sonny crushes him close. He’s nearly lifting the poor guy right off his feet. Dino laughs and wraps his arms tight around Sonny’s big shoulders, hugging him warmly. _That looks nice,_ Joey thinks. _Oh, that looks really, really nice._ Then Dino whacks Sonny solidly right between his shoulder blades and Sonny returns the gesture, which Joey thinks looks much less nice. He doesn’t want a dude hug. He wants be be hugged like a small treasure, thank you.

“Good to see you Sonny,” Dino says. “Damn, it’s been a while.” 

“Sure has! Too long,” Sonny says, holding onto Dino at arms length and regarding him with a big smile. He gives him another friendly thump, on the arm this time, and Joey winces. What is wrong with guys? “Look, come see this great set up I got here.” Sonny says, tugging on the sleeve of Dino’s jacket and leading him off towards the record player. Dino looks over at Joey as he’s dragged away, expression all apologies. 

“Rescue me when you can, okay?” He says. “Before Sonny decides he needs a roadie.” 

“Superjew to the rescue!” Joey beams. He composes himself, turns back to the espresso machine, and starts work on the last, the very _last_ , latte of Ms Important-Fischler-Account’s Interminable Coffee Order of the Infinite Office. He tries his hardest to concentrate properly and not to bounce on his toes with excitement at the thought of getting to spend a little time with Dino again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.  
> “This boy, you want a cute one?”  
> “Oh yeah, really cute, please. The cutest.”  
> “Correct answer.”  
> 2.  
> “One vodka cranberry, please"  
> “No, not in the bathroom. It’s disgusting in there.”  
> Apologies for the probably very ropey translations; if anyone speaks Italian and can make them better, please do let me know!


	8. Wednesday - A Coffee Break

The table where they sat yesterday is already in use, so Joey takes their coffees and their plate of carefully-selected cookies over to a table near the one of the Belmont’s big windows. It’s a low coffee table of rustic, battered wood with a big, squashy velvet sofa placed on either side. Sitting here is perfect, Joey thinks, because they can be comfortable and also Dino could sit opposite him on the purple sofa if he wants to or maybe, maybe, and only if it seems like something he might like to do, he could sit next to Joey right here on this emerald green one.

He arranges everything nicely on the table, toes off his shoes and curls up in the corner of the sofa, comfortable as a cat. Peeping over the back cushions, he manages accidentally to catch Dino’s eye, but he quickly whips his gaze back to the table so that Dino doesn’t think he was being impatient or mooning over him or anything silly like that. 

He sips his coffee as he waits, but it’s barely any time at all before Dino comes over and joins him. He plonks himself down in the middle of the sofa right beside Joey, not even showing the slightest hesitation.

“Hi,” he says, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it crumpled behind him on the seat. 

“Hi, hello!” Joey says. “Careful with your coffee, sorry, I filled it up super full. And here’s the cookies, I tried to pick good ones but you see there’s… oh my, uhm…” 

Joey was expecting to see Dino in his black work shirt as usual but oh boy was he wrong. Under his jacket Dino’s wearing an unzipped black hoodie which is very plain, sure, and fine, but underneath _that_ there’s…

There’s one of the ugliest shirts Joey has ever seen in his entire fucking life. Oy _vey_.

It doesn’t make any sense, this shirt. It has a swirling pattern of paisleys, which interlock and then flutter apart like a dizzying tumble of autumn leaves. The pattern is done in bright, eye-watering turquoise with explosions of blush pink and burnt orange. Fine colors individually Joey reckons, but all at once? He doesn’t understand. They’re making him nauseous. Who would put these shades together? What is it trying to do, this shirt?

He had some things to say to Dino all ready and waiting in his head, just in case he should see him and dry up on the spot. But now his head is empty. He must’ve fallen quiet for a suspiciously long time because Dino gives him a questioning look, then follows his gaze down to his own torso.

“No?” He says.

“Oh, bubbe… “

“It’s okay, you can say it.”

“It’s very colorful.”

“It’s too colorful?”

That’s kind of a strange question, Joey thinks. “Well, no, I mean, that’s up to you, isn’t it? If you like it then it must be just right,” he says, trying to sound encouraging.

“Not really,” Dino replies. “I’m kind of colorblind. I make mistakes sometimes.” He starts not-so-subtly trying to close the hoodie’s zipper. “Is it really bad?”

“No! No. I mean…. No, it’s adorable.”

“Well,” Dino laughs, “that’s not exactly the look I was going for.” He’s still trying to hook the zipper into place.

“No, don’t!” Joey touches the back of his hand. “Don’t cover it up, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I’m sorry. It’s growing on me, truly.” Dino looks at him almost shyly, like he wants to believe him and, oh heavens, that’s distracting. He is so handsome. He has really deep brown eyes but with a little bit of an amber glow to them, like embers. So warm. He really shouldn’t be allowed to go around Cary Grant-ing at people like that. Joey tries to pull himself together. “So colors, they look different to you? That’s really interesting.”

“It is? Well, I didn’t realise it for a long time, of course.” Dean stops messing with the hoodie and seems to relax again. “How was I supposed to know, you know? I mean this,” he indicates his shirt, “I thought this was mostly blue. A little yellow, a little grey.” 

“Do you want to know what I see, maybe?” Joey asks.

“Sure,” Dino says, looking down at his shirt again. “It’d be good to know what I’m working with here.”

“Well, let’s see,” Joey thinks for a moment, then points out a particularly prominent orange paisley. “Okay, this one…”

“Which one?” Dino stops him.

“Um,” Joey hesitantly reaches out, and with his index finger touches the place high up Dino’s chest where the offending shape lies. If he didn't know better he could've sworn Dino took a sharp little breath in, but that's silly because Dino just doesn't seem like the kind of guy who goes around taking sharp little breaths in when people touch him. The fabric is soft soft soft against his fingertip, matte but feels almost silky. The muscle underneath it is, um. Extremely firm. “So, what color does this one look to you?” He asks, adjusting his posture a little and straightening his back. This is serious business. 

“That one?” Dino says. “Well, I guess that one has a little yellow in it. With some grey. Yeah.”

“Huh,” Joey says. “See, to me it’s orange, much golder than yellow,” he gently outlines the top curve of the paisley as he speaks. “Like, start with yellow but then add, uh, add a kind of a heat to it?” He glances up at Dean’s face to see if he’s looking at him like he’s a crazy person. He’s not. He’s definitely looking at him, but not anything like that. He tries to maintain his focus. “It’s like when you close your eyes in the springtime and you’re surprised that you can feel the sun all warm on your eyelids. Because over the winter you’d forgotten what it felt like. That’s this one.”

“Oh,” Dino says, looking down at the point where Joey’s touching him. “Okay. It doesn’t look warm like that to me.” He seems to be thinking. “What else?” 

Joey slides his finger down to a small but vibrantly turquoise part of the pattern that sits a little lower on Dino’s chest. He feels very daring. “This one,” he says, gently tapping it as he thinks, “um, let me see. This one, well, it’s like bright blue but with some green. It’s like diving into a swimming pool, a real deep one. Too deep to stand up. That’s this one, mm-hm. And the water goes woosh! Right up your nose.”

Dino honest-to-god giggles, meeting his eyes. Oh god, Joey’s in so so much trouble. 

“Okay, it is blue then,” Dino says, “but so blue it kind of hurts, is that right?”

Joey holds his gaze, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, that’s exactly right.” He finds himself looking at Dino for a few beats too long, then lets his hand fall away and settle in his lap.

Dino nods and shifts in his seat in such a way that it brings him a fraction nearer. “You’re good at this, Joey. Kind of a niche skill, I gotta say.” 

“Oh, thank you! I’ll take ‘niche’, that’s another way of saying ‘super special’, yes?” Joey beams at him. “I just think color’s important, is all. So important. Like a language, or languages even, so many different combinations and inflections, all the stories it can tell.” It occurs to him that all this might just sound like silliness to Dino. “So, no one ever did this before? Tried to explain them to you?”

“I don’t think anyone ever thought it was worth the effort, honestly.”

“Oh, Dino! That’s terrible.”

Dino laughs softly. “I managed thirty-one years without, I don’t do so bad at dressing myself.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that, I…” Joey starts, crestfallen, then realises. “You’re teasing me.”

“Maybe a bit.”

Joey purses his lips together in a funny little pout. He reaches over and breaks a piece off his cookie, ignoring Dino as he nibbles on it, eyes downcast. “I’m not gonna help you anymore, nope. No sir.”

“Aw, c’mon Joe, please? I like your colors.”

“Nope. And it’s ‘Jo _ey_ ’, thank you.”

“Sorry, Joey,” Dino winces. “You did tell me that before, I’m sorry I forgot." Dino falls silent for a moment, waiting for Joey to look at him again. Eventually he does, peeping up through his thick eyelashes. "You don’t like 'Joe', huh?” Dino asks.

“It’s what my dad calls me. He’s the only one who ever does and I don’t mind it really, I don't, I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s just. I would rather not.”

“I get it. I’m sorry I called you the wrong name, Joey.”

He sounds truly sincere and Joey can’t help but smile. It's good that Dino obviously cares about getting it right. 

“It’s okay,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee and clutching the cup close as he snuggles into his corner. “I just prefer ‘Joey’, it feels more like me.”

“Sometimes people call me ‘Dean’ and I don’t go for that so much either. My folks, they’re Italian and I’m proud of it. I like my Italian name. Someone tries to call me something different, I wonder what’s behind it, you know?”

“Mm-hm, I know. My Grandma Sarah, she always called me Joey, right from when I was little. And I want to keep being the person she saw. I don’t want to be the person my dad sees.”

“Who does your dad see?”

“Well. Joe’s kind of a disappointment to him, I think.”

“I can’t imagine you being a disappointment to anybody.” Dino shakes his head.

“Really?” Joey’s voice cracks with incredulity. “You seen me?” 

“Sure,” Dino says, “and I see nothing for anyone to be disappointed about, not a thing.”

Joey’s lower lip finds its way between his teeth. He’s a little overcome and not quite sure what to do with the compliment. “Thank you,” he says, very quietly. “He’s not around much anyway, my dad. He’s an entertainer, works on the big cruise ships so I don’t see him a whole lot. And then sometimes he _is_ in New York and I find out about it from a tweet.” He shrugs.

“I think we should change the subject,” Dino says, eyes dark.

“Oh, oh sorry. Other people’s families _are_ boring and I do rattle on. I’m so sorry…” Embarrassed he grabs another piece of cookie to nibble on, just to have something to do with his hands.

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s just that I don’t want to say anything bad about your dad.”

“Oh!”

“Here, how about this.” Dino says. Very gently he takes hold of Joey’s free hand and brings it over to his own stomach, placing his fingers against the blush-colored paisley lying there. “Tell me about this one, huh?”

Joey looks down at his hand lying there utterly dwarfed by Dino’s. His chewing slows to a stop. Beneath the fabric he can feel Dino's tummy hot against his fingertips. He swallows, and tries hard to recall this thing he thinks might be called ‘speaking’. The words fall out on their own.

“The scent of pink roses, this one.” Joey keeps his eyes on it, he can’t look up. Dino’s still holding onto his hand. “That’s all I can think of. Roses, gone a little over, petals about ready to drop. Breathe too hard and they’ll just. They’ll slip off.”

He knows Dino’s looking at him very intently now, he can feel it. But still he can’t look up. 

“I smell roses right now,” Dino says quietly. “Is it you?”

“Bubble bath,” Joey nods.

Dino leans forward a little, then pauses. “Can I?”

Joey’s gaze flicks up and immediately meets Dino’s smiling brown eyes. He looks so good, so safe. Joey isn’t even quite sure what it is he’s asking to do but he knows that whatever it is, he wants him to do it.

“Mm-hm.”

The sofa creaks ever so slightly as Dino leans closer. Without touching him at all, he moves into the space between Joey’s neck and his almost-bare shoulder. Joey can feel the air shift against his skin as Dino breathes in. He smiles.

“Yeah, it’s definitely you. S’beautiful.”

The scent of Dino’s cologne is mixing with his roses, and when Joey closes his eyes he pictures sunlit pink blooms twining over fresh forest wood. Inside his mouth the rich taste of chocolate lingers. Within Dino’s hand, his own is warm as a glowing coal. He might cry. Then,

“OOF!” 

From nowhere Sonny flings himself over the back of the couch and thuds down into the seat next to Dino, jostling them both as the cushions reverberate with aftershocks. Dino’s grip on his hand breaks. 

“Hey, Baby,” Sonny says, way too loud, “what’s a fella got to do to find a spare extension cable around here? I asked the Boss but they’re busy and ooh, sweet, cookies. You eatin’ this, Kid?”

As he’s speaking he breaks a piece off Dino’s cookie and chucks it in his mouth.

“Hey!” Dino says, whacking Sonny on the arm. “Yeah I am eating it, get your own.” Sonny treats him to a cookie crumb grin and Dino elbows him in the ribs. Joey blinks at them both like he just came out of a trance.

“I, um. I’d better be getting back to work,” he says, tugging his sweater up to sit better on his shoulder and fumbling his shoes back on. How did he end up so undressed? “I’ll get that cable for you Sonny, first thing, and… oh!” So rude, he nearly forgot. “Thank you Dino, for the coffee and the snack. They were delicious.” Glancing at the table as he stands up, he realises that Dino’s cup is still full of tepid coffee and his cookie, apart from the bit Sonny stole, is still sitting on its plate. “Don’t forget yours, it’ll be cold. Sorry, shall I get you another?”

“No, no,” says Dino. “This one’s fine, I don’t mind it a little cold. I must’ve gotten distracted.” He looks up at Joey with a secret little half-smile and Joey’s internal thermostat shoots up so high he thinks he could probably reheat Dino’s coffee just by touching the cup. Sonny’s looking at them, eyes twinkling.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“No! Um, okay, so I’ll just go over, yes. Over there. Hm.” He makes to leave but then stops, running a hand over his hair and turning back to Dino. “You’re staying though, right?” He blurts. “For a little while?” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “Not for a couple hours, at least. Sonny, you want some help setting up?”

“Shit, yes. I got so much to do, I was late as fuck and, Jesus Christ, if you know who the patron saint of bi-fucking-amping is then send up a prayer for me, will ya? My wires have turned into a fucking gordian knot.”

Joey hurries off to rummage around under the counter for the spare extension lead, earning some exasperated protests from Nico for getting under their feet. Dino gathers his stuff and heads over to the record player with Sonny, neither of them noticing the sleek black car that pulls gleaming onto the sidewalk outside.


End file.
